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No. 3. V 


IssuedljWeekly. Annual Subscription, $13.00 
December 21st, 1889. 

Entered at the Post Office New York as second class matter. 

RIO + DANE. 

BY 

Matthew White,, Jr. 

IL LUSTRAT ED, ft 
No copyright bool!s by leading authors for boys and girls equaling this serif 
%n went and punty were ever before published for less than $1.25 a copy. 



FRANK F. :^OVELL & COMPANY, 

NEW YORK. 


A NEW BOOK. 


Afloat in a Great City; 


A STORY OF STRANGE INCIDENTS, 

BY 


FRANK A. MUNSEY, PLiblisher of “Th« Golden Argosy.” 


This si 


rat.ive of 


and reac 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

:s 




a* 

lii 


Shelf 

s 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






is an exceedingly liandsome volume. It contains 388 pages, 
and IS fully illusi rated, and beautifulh^ bound in cloth and gilt. 
It is a book which every boy and girl who likes good literature 
will wish to have. 


It can be ordered at any book store, price $1.25 ; or you can 
get it post paid by mail by sending that amount to 

FRANK A. MUNSEY & COMPANY', 

fit Warren St., \etv Yorh. 




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ERIC RESCUES LOUISE APPLEBY, 





ERIC DANE; 


OR, 


OTBALL OF FORTUNE. 


VTTHEW WHITE, Jr. 



NEW YORK ; 

FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY, 
142 AND 144 Worth Si'. 



Copyright, 1S89, by 

Frank F. Lovell & Company. 


ERIC DANE. 


CHAPTER L 

THE RAILROAD ACCIDENT. 

“Is this seat engaged?” 

The speaker was a boy of sixteen, inclined to be 
tall, and very well described by the term “ good 
looking.” He was dressed in a neat fitting suit, and 
in one hand carried a gaod sized satchel, while the 
other held an umbrella. 

He had entered the car at the last minute before 
the train left Jersey City, and consequently found 
nearly all the seats occupied. 

The person to whom ’the question was addressed 
was alfe'o a boy, but one of rather gruff manners, for 
before replying he favored the speaker with a pro- 
longed stare, then muttered : 

“I s’pose not, so I guess you can have it.” 

“ Thank you ! ” responded the other, adding, “ I’ll 
put my bag up in that rack over your head, if vou 
don’t mind. It’ll be out of the way then.” 

“ I’ll sling it up for you,” was the rather unex- 
pected rejoinder. 

The train was already in motion, so the new comer 
smilingly accepted the proffered aid and passed over 
his hand baggage. But the other youth was not 
quite as tall as he wished to appear ; besides, the bag 


6 


tEEIC DANE. 


wa^ doubtless heayi^ than he had counted on. The 
result was that just as he had almost got it safely 
lodged in the rack, a sudden lurch of the car threw 
it out, and down it came with a thump on the back of 
the forward seat. 

The latter was occupied by a middle aged lady in 
a brown straw bonnet and an immense blue water- 
proof cloak, under which she had been observed to 
be cherishing some article of the live stock variety. 

The' unexpected descent of the satchel so close at 
hand caused the lady to scream, ‘‘ Sakes o’ massy I ” 
and give a start that sent the concealed object out 
of the waterproof in the shape of an enormous yellow 
cat. With one spring puss landed across the aisle 
and had perched on the shoulder of an old gentle- 
man, which of course was enough to set the whole 
car i» an uproar. 

Ladies addod their screams to those of the cat’s 
mistress ajid the angry exclamations of the old gen- 
tleman. 

“ Oh, there goes Gideon. Catch him, catch him. 
He’ll jump off and be killed, I know he will ! ” 

“We’ll get him for you, ma’am,” cried the unlucky 
cause of the mischief, as, in company with the, owner 
of the bag, he made a swoop for puss, who had finally 
taken refuge in the corner near the water cooler. 

He suffered himself to be captured without much 
resistance, and the two boys between them bore him 
back to his mistress with many apologies 

“I say, that was fun, wasn’t it?” 'whispered he of 
the rough exterior. “Guess we ought to be ac- 
quainted now. Where are you going to get off ? ” 

“ At Cedarbrook.” 

“ Is that where you live ? ” 

“ I don’t know yet.” 

“ Don’t know ! That’s queer. Wh^e do you live, 
then?” 


EEIC DANE. 


7 


“ Nowhere just now.” 

It w^as evident that the occupant of the aisle seat 
thought he was being questioned a little too closely 
at the hands of an utter stranger. But the latter was 
a youth who allowed no rules of etiquette to inter- 
fere with his desires, and just at present, for the want 
of something better to pass aw'ay the time, he deter- 
mined to amuse himself by finding out all he possi- 
bly could about his seat mate. 

And the rather mystifying resj^onses he had al- 
ready received only whetted his curiosity the more. 

“ That’s funnier yet,” he went on. “ You’ve got to 
live somewhere. Where did you get your break- 
fast?” 

- Off Fire Island.” 

“ Oh, you’ve been swelling it over in Europe, 
then ? ” 

No answer. 

“ I say, if you’ll tell me your name. I’ll tell you 
mine. I always like to know who I’m talking to, and 
so do you, I suppose. Never mind about hunting up 
a card. Let’s have it by word of mouth.” 

But the other already had his wallet out, and w^as 
extending towards his persistent fellow passenger a 
card bearing the words : 

Eric Dane. 

“ Oh ; now I’ll tell you mine. It’s a longer one 
than that, but I guess you ” 

The sentence was never finished. Without a sec- 
ond’s warning, the car lurched to one side, rolled 
over and fell, a heap of splintered wood and twisted 
metal, in the dry bed of a brook. 

One instant of fateful silence there was, and then 
arose a din of shrieks, and groans and cries, mingled 
with the shouts of the horror stricken train hands 
and the escaping steam from the engine. 

The latter, with three Cars attached, had been 


8 


EKIC DANE. 


brought to a standstill, safe and sound, on the other 
side of the bridge ; the broken rail had thrown over 
only the last two passenger coaches, which now lay 
motionless in the darkness of the gathering twilight, 
covering nobody could say how many maimed and 
mutilated bodies. 

But the gloom was all too soon dissipated by a 
baleful light. The lamps had set tire to the shat- 
tered woodwork, and in a verj^ few minutes the scene 
was illuminated by a glare of fearful portent. 

The passengers and railroad emjDloyees worked 
with a will at the task of rescue, but it was little they 
could do. The brook, as has been said, was dry, and 
although the engine had already speeded off to the 
nearest station for help, it was only too evident that 
before that could arrive the major portion of the 
overturned cars would be quite consumed. 

And what had been the fate of those passengers in 
whom we are more particularly interested ? 

During that fearful downward plunge Eric Dane 
involuntarily closed his eyes and braced himself for 
the shock that was sure to come. His seat mate gave 
one frightful yell and made a dash across his knees 
toward the arfsle. Then the car struck the rocks with 
a mighty crash, and — Eric found himself lying across 
the back of a seat, unhurt ! 

Not only this, but by the air that blew in and 
fanned his cheek he knew that the opportunity for 
escape through an open window lay ready at hand. 

At the same instant a faint cry for help just behind 
him reached his ears. It was a girl’s voice, and he 
called out iji response : 

“ "Where Ure you ? ” 

“ Here, right in the aisle. If only that seat was 
out of the way, I could pull myself through.” 

Guided by the sound of the voice, Eric felt his 
way to the spot, and, by a vigorous wrench, sue- 


miG DANE. 


9 


ceeded in pulling aside the barrier that had ke^Dt the 
unknown one a prison<er. 

By this time the groans and cries of those about 
them were harrowing in the extreme; but trying to 
close his eyes and ears to all but the one work of 
rescue he had in hand, Eric stretched out his arm 
through the opening be had made, and requested the 
young girl to take hold of it. 

This being done, he exerted all his strength, and 
presently the two were side by side, clinging as best 
they could to whatever support came to hand. 

“ Oh, merciful heavens, the car is on fire ! ” cried 
the girl the next instant. 

“ Never fear,” replied Eric ; if you will stay where 
you are for half a minute longer, I will crawl out 
through the window. That will leave room for you 
to do the same, and then we can easily escape.” . 

Even as he spoke — for every minute was jn-ecious 
— he caught hold of the window sash, and, as rapidly 
as the narrowness of the aperture would permit, 
worked his way out into the open air, sweet with the 
smell of new mown hay, the odor oi which has ever 
since reminded him of the experiences of that mem- 
orable night. 

“Now then, once more your hand. I beg pardon if 
I seem rough, but it will take a little strength.” 

But the girl was not only extraordinarily cool in 
the hour of danger, but brave as well. Not one cry 
did she utter, as giving both hands to our hero, she 
suffered herself to be drawn through the window, 
sustaining in the process not a few scratches and 
bruises. 

However, the sight that now revealed itself drew 
from her an exclamation of horror. 

From the manner in which the two derailed cars 
had been thrown together, it seemed impossible that 
any of those within them could have escaped with 


10 


ERIC DANE. 


tlieir lives, and the flames that had burst forth added 
a fresh element of the terrible to the scene. 

The two were now on the upi^er side of the over- 
turned car. Followed by his companion, Eric sprang 
down to the ground below, but no sooner was the 
solid earth reached than the girl amazed him by 
sinking in a faint at his feet. 

The boy hesitated an instant, then stooped down, 
piched up the unconscious form in his strong young 
arms, and rapidly bore her from the spot. 

But where should he go? His first impulse was 
merely to get beyond the reach of the flames from 
the burning cars. Presently he caught sight of a 
light ahead of him. 

It was evidently a lantern in a switchman’s box on 
the bank by the bridge, and exerting the last rem- 
nant of a strength that had already been severely 
taxed, Eric carried his inanimate burden up the steep 
ascent. 

The box was deserted, as was to be expected, with 
a terrible calamity so close at hand. But there was 
a pitcher of water on a stand just inside the door, 
and placing the girl in the chair by the entrance, our 
hero dashed some of it across her face, and finally 
succeeded in recalling her to consciousness. 

At the same instant something was recalled to his 
own mind. Setting down the pitcher he thrust his 
hand into the breast pocket of his coat. It was 
empty. Then he remembered that he had had the 
wallet out for the purpose of giving his card to the 
young stranger who was his seat mate at the very 
moment when the accident happened. 


1 / 


EEIC DANE. 


11 


CHAPTER 11. 


A fateful postponement. 


“ Have you lost something ? ” asked the young 
girl, noting Eric’s search through his pockets. “I 
am so sorry. Perhaps if you had not stopped to 
help me, you might have had time to secure all 
your baggage.” 

“ Please don’t say that,” returned our hero quickly. 
“ It makes it seem as if I thought more of a satchel 
or pocket book than of a human life. Besides, just 
see what we have escaped;” and he pointed to the 
scene of the wreck, from which a vast volume of 
flame was shooting up into the evening sky. 

‘'Oh, that is terrible!” cried the girl. “Do you 
think all the passengers have escaped ? ” 

“Had you any friends among them?” replied 
Eric, evading the question. 

“No; I was alone. I was detained in the city 
very late by a rehearsal. I never came out home 
after dark by myself before. Father will be wild 
with anxiety about me, and — and I caniiot stay here 
to see what they may bring from the wreck. Look, 
those 1 something now ; ” and, cov- 



hands, the girl started to 


ering 


walk away, although she was as yet scarcely able to 
stand. 

At the same instant an ear piercing whistle 
sounded close at hand, and a second later the blind- 
ing glare of a headlight swept swiftly by. 


12 


EKIC DANE. 


The girl started back in a new accession of ter- 
ror, and would have fallen had not Eric sprung for- 
ward and caught her. 

The next moment the train had stopped, and the 
two were surrounded by an excited throng of offi- 
cials and passengers, demanding to know what had 
happened. But by this time one or two brakemen 
from the wrecked cars had made their way to the 
spot, and Eric was relieved of the task of telling 
the terrible tale. 

“ Have all the passengers escaped from the last 
car?” he managed to find an opportunity to in- 
quire. 

I helloed a boy out of one of the windows, and 
an old lady who was cr} ing for her cat out of an- 
other,” was the brakeman’s reply, as he paused for 
an instant in his quest for an axe. “Em afraid 
that’s all that got out alive,” he added, gravely. 

Eric was about to correct him, but before he could 
explain, the man was off, and our hero’s entire at- 
tention was claimed by the young girl over whom 
he found himself thus suddenly placed in the guise 
of a protector. 

“If I could only get home,” she murmured, with 
a shudder, as the agonized cries came from the 
direction of the burning cars. 

“ Bo you live far from here ? ” Eric inquired. 

“ No ; my home is in Newark, the next stop on the 
other side the bridge.” 

“I will see if we can find some means of getting 
there,” said Eric ; and, turning to a passenger from 
the newly arrived train, he inquired whether he 
knew of any conveyance they could get that would 
take them to the neighboring city. 

“ The railroad is blocked, I suppose ? ” he asked. 

“Yes, it is, and will be for an hour or more,” was 
the response ; “ but the conductor has just told me 


ERIC DANE. 


13 


that they have telegraphed for right of way to send 
this train on to Newark by another road.” 

Eric communicated this intelligence to the young 
girl, and volunteered to see that she reached her 
home in safety. 

“But it will be taking too much of your time,” 
she objected. “You have been very kind already— 
oh, that sounds weak, after what you have done for 
me. Besides, your friends will be troubled about 
your safety. You ought to go on to them at once.” 

“ Oh, nobody expects me just at this time,” replied 
our hero ; “ and I can see you home just as well as 
uot. The baggage car is all right, so I need not 
worry about my luggage. Had you any on the 
train ? ” 

“ Oh, no ; I was only in for the afternoon. You 
are ever so kind. We live near the station, and 
Newark is only a short distance.” 

Five minutes later they were seated in the train, 
which presently began to back down, till it was 
shunted to another track, on which it had a clear 
run to Newark. 

“ Won’t this be an adventure to tell Cousin John 
when I get to Cedarbrook ! ” mused Eric, as he sat 
silent beside his charge, who had at once sunk back 
in her corner of the seat, overcome by a recollec- 
tion of the terrible scene she had just witnessed, 
and her own narrow escape. “ He probably imag- 
ines me still on the Atlantic, that is, if he hasn’t 
had news already of the Mystic’s quick passage.” 

Then a sudden recollection caused Eric to plunge 
both hands into his trousers pockets. In one of 
them he found a five dollar bill, and in the other a 
dollar or two in small change. 

This discovery relieved his mind considerably. 
He had feared that all the money he had brought 
with him was in that ill fated wallet. 


14 


ERIC DANE. 


During the short journey Eric had an opportunity 
of noting the appearance of his companion, who 
seemed to be about his own age. She had a sad 
look in her blue eyes, and the hand that supported 
her golden head was so thin as to be almost trans- 
parent. She was neatly but very plainly dressed. 

“She said something about having been to a re- 
hearsal,” thought Eric. “I wonder if she plays at 
one of the theaters ? ” 

His cogitations on the subject were cut short by 
the arrival of the train in Newark. Two minutes 
later he was electrified to see the young girl leave 
his side and rush into the arms of a stout old gen- 
tleman, in a green and yellow seersucker coat. 

“Now, I’ve done my duty, so I’ll hunt up another 
train for Cedarbrook,” muttered our hero. 

If he had done this without further delay, what 
an amount of misery and privation he might have 
been spared ! 

He had already turned to enter the waiting room, 
when he felt himself caught by the sleeve. 

“Permit me, my gallant boy, preserver of my 
daughter, and hero of the hour,” exclaimed a sonor- 
ous voice, and almost before he knew what had hap- 
pened, Eric’s hand was nearly wrung from his body 
by the man in the particolored coat. Indeed, so 
hearty were the greetings of the stout gentleman, 
that he was obliged to employ his other hand to 
wipe the perspiration from his brow with his red 
spotted handkerchief, which he had requested his 
daughter to take from his pocket for the purpose. 

“You will come and dine with us, will you not? 
The house of Appleby will be honored by your pres- 
ence.” 

“ You are very kind, Mr. ” 

“ ApjDleby — Alonzo Appleby, and this is my daugh- 
ter Louise. But uh, you have met before, under 


ERIC DANE. 


15 


strange circumstances, under, I may say, almost 
coincidental circumstances. But come, we will re- 
pair to our humble abode, and there ” 

“Excuse me, Mr. Appleby,” Eric here broke in, 
“ but I really must leave you. I trust your daugh- 
ter will suffer no ill effects from the fearful strain 
she has undergone this evening ; ” and, touching 
his hat to the young lady, our hero made a sudden 
dash for the waiting room. 

“I hope I wasn’t rude,” he said to himself ; “but 
really I must find out what is to become of me to- 
night.” 

“ Is there a train from here to Cedarbrook this 
evening?” he inquired of the station agent. 

“ Just gone ! ” was the reply. “ No other till 9:30 
in the morning.” 

“That is exasperating! ” muttered Eric, little sus- 
pecting how really serious a matter this missing of 
the train was going to turn out for him. “ I sup- 
pose I might as well go back to New York and stay 
all night, or down to Coney Island. Yes, that’s 
what ril do ; ” and inside of ten minutes he was on 
a train bound for Jersey City. 

All the conversation on the cars was relative to 
the terrible accident on the other road, and Eric 
shuddered as he listened to accounts of the burn- 
ing alive of most of the passengers who had been 
in that last car, from which he and Louise Appleby 
had so miraculously escaped. 

It was nearly ten o’clock when the ferry boat 
landed our hero on the New York side of the river, 
and he debated with himself whether it was worth 
while to go down to Coney Island at that late hour. 

“ But I’ve got to put up somewhere tonight,” he 
told himself, “ and I might just as well go down 
there where it’s cool.” 

Taking a paper from his pocket, he consulted it 


16 


ERIC DANE. 


by the light of an electric lamp in the ferry house, 
and ascertained that there were still two boats to 
Manhattan Beach. 

Inquiring of a policeman the nearest route to the 
jDier whence they started, he was soon on his way 
thither, and a quarter of an hour later was being 
carried past the Statue of Liberty on a Bay Kidge 
steamboat. 

There were very few passengers on the boat, but 
of the few one was a young fellow of about his own 
age, who occupied a chair on the forward deck next 
to himself. Two gentlemen were standing talking 
together not far off, and presently one of them 
pointed in the direction of quarantine, where a large 
ocean steamer was Ijdng at anchor. 

The next moment the boy near our hero put his 
hand in the breast pocket of his coat and drew forth 
a letter. Now, directly over Eric’s head was a lamp, 
and as the other leaned toward him to allow the 
light to fall more directly on the page, Eric’s eyes 
chanced to rest on the letter. 

He gave a start of astonishment, for he recognized 
his own handwriting. 

“Why, that’s my last letter to Fred Marchman,'’ 
he exclaimed. “How did this fellow ever come to 
get hold of it ? ” 


EEIO DANE. 


17 


CHATER in. 

EKIC’S INHERITANCE. 

As he sat gazing at the letter in the hand of the 
boy beside him, a sudden thought struck Eric. Why 
should not the fellow be Fred Marchman himself ? 
Owing to Eric’s residence in Europe for the past ten 
years, the boys had not seen one another since they 
were six years old, although as their parents had 
been very intimate friends, the boys had heard a 
good deal of each other, and had corresponded at 
intervals in the meantime. 

I beg your pardon,” ventured Eric, touching the 
other on the arm, ‘‘but is not your name March- 
man ? ” 

“Yes,” was the somewhat startled reply, as the 
speaker turned to see who was addressing him. The 
next instant he was on his feet and had seized one 
of our hero’s hands in both his own, with the cry : 
“Why, Eric Dane, where on earth did you come 
from ? ” 

“Well, I’ve come from being on sea for the past 
six days, but did you know me from my picture ? I’m 
sure I’d never have recognized you from yours.” 

“ What made you speak to me, then ? I made sure 
you were a bunco steerer till I turned around and 
got the light of that lamp on your face.” 

“ I saw you take out that letter of mine. Do you 
mean to say you hadn’t read it before ? You must 
have got it a week ago.” 


18 


EEIC DANE. 


“ Of course I’d read it before, only when I heard 
two gentlemen Avondering what steamer that was 
lying at quarantine, I took it out of my pocket to see 
what one you said you AA^ere coming on. But you 
must have made a quick trip. The Mystic wasn’t ex- 
pected in till some time tomorrow.” 

“We did beat the record, you knoAv. But I’m jolly 
glad I met you. I missed connections for Cedar- 
brook, and couldn’t get out to Cousin John’s, so as 
he didn’t expect the steamer in till tomorroAV, and 
wasn’t doAvn at the pier, you’re the first soul to 
Avelcome me back to my native land. In fact the 
country doesn’t seem to have taken a fancy to me, 
and has tried to smash me up in a railroad accident 
already,” and he proceeded to relate the experiences 
that had befallen him earlier in the eA^ening. 

“Jingo, Eric!” exclaimed Fred, extending his 
hand for another shake. “ You’re quite a hero, res- 
cuing maidens from overturned cars and then es- 
corting them home. I suppose Ave shall see a full 
account of your gallantry in the morning papers.” 

“ Indeed you Avon’t. That is unless old Mr. Appleby 
puts it in, and he doesn’t knoAv my name. But what 
are you doing here at this hour of the night by your- 
self on your Avay to Coney Island ? Where’s the rest 
of the family ? ” 

“ All doAvn at the Oriental. You’re coming there, 
too, of course, to be our guest over night. I can’t 
ask you for any longer, because we’re all going off 
on a yachting cruise to NeAvfoundland and Labrador. 
We start tomorrow morning in the Charmer, and I’ve 
just been up to get Daisy’s diary. She left it on the 
bureau in her room Avhen Ave stopped at the house 
this morning on our way through the city from 
Greenwich.” 

“ Oh, yes, that’s Avhere you go every summer, isn’t 
it? I’ve heard so much of all these places that I 


EKIO DANE. 


19 


don’t feel a bit like a stranger in the country. But 
it’s too bad of you to go away just as I come.” 

“Yes I’m no end sorry it happens so, and if it was 
our yacht, I’d get father to wait till you could get 
ready to go along ; but you see it belongs to his 
partner, and he’s invited the whole family to go on 
this first cruise.” 

“ How long will you be away ? ” 

“About two months, I think.” 

“ When you come back I suppose I shall be living 
in New York, although I can’t tell you where- 
abouts.” 

“ That reminds me,” exclaimed Fred, taking out 
the letter again and pointing to the following 
sentence on the second page : “ I’ve got some aston- 
ishing news for you. I’ve had a fortune left me and 
am coming over to America to take possession of my 
propertj^.” 

“ Now jDlease explain,” went on Fred. “ Who’s 
left you all this money ? Is it very much, and have 
you got the full use of it now, or do you have to 
wait till you are of age ? ” 

“Very natural questions, and I’ll try to answer 
them all before the boat gets to that pier for which 
she seems to be aiming. 

“ Of course you know that I have been living with 
my Uncle Edward in Liverpool ever since I was left 
an orphan at seven ; but I don’t sujDpose you know 
that that uncle had a brother Eric in California for 
whom I was named.” 

“ But why didn’t I know it ? ” Fred persisted. 
“ I see a deep and dark mystery looming up on the 
horizon of your story. Trot it out, Eric. It isn’t a 
family skeleton, is it ? ” 

“ Oh, no, you probably never heard of my Uncle 
Eric, for the tip top reason that I didn’t know there 
was such a person myself until three months ago/’ 


20 


EKIC DANE. 


“ But how did you account for your name, then ? 
Fred wanted to know. 

“I thought it was a fancy one. Lots of people 
have them nowadays.” 

“Where did this mysterious uncle keep himself all 
those years, then ? ” 

“In China. You see this was the way of it. He 
was father’s youngest brother and they were very 
fond of one another, but the year after I was born 
they had a terrible quarrel over some business mat- 
ter. My uncle went away, and his name was never 
mentioned in the family.” 

“ And now he has made a fortune in tea, died and 
left it all to you. But who is your Cousin John ? I 
didn’t know you had any relatives on this side of 
the water.” 

“I didn’t know anything about him till lately 
either. You see, we’ve been a very much scattered 
family, the few there are of us. He is from some- 
where in Canada. His name is Tilbert, and he’s 
only second or third cousin to me, I don’t remember 
which. At any rate. Uncle Eric left him something, 
too, and put him in charge of my property till I’m 
twenty one.” 

“ But what becomes of your Uncle Edward in all 
this domestic upheaval ? I should think he would 
have come over with you.” 

“That’s just it. You know he belongs to the 
Koyal Geographical Society in England, and has just 
been appointed one of an expedition to push through 
some investigations in central Australia. He started 
two days after I did.” 

\.,/‘Let me see, he’s an old bachelpr, isn’t he? ” 

“ Yes, so there’s nobody left behind. I’ve been at 
Eton at school the greater part of the year, and in 
the vacations uncle and I would travel around.” 

“But how big is this fortune you’ve inherited?” 


ERIC DANE. 


21 


“ Something over a million, I believe,” answered 
Eric, modestly. 

Whew ! ” whistled Fred, getting up with great 
formality to shake hands with his friend for the 
third time. “ I dare say when I get back from the 
cruise you’ll have a yacht of your own.” 

“ You forget, though, that I’m not to have the use 
of the money, that is, beyond a regular allowance, 
until I’m of age. But this isn’t Coney Island, 
surely.” 

“No, indeed ; this is Bay Kidge, where we change 
to the cars. There’s no hurry, though. Plenty of 
room on this trip. Everybody is going the other 
way.” 

The transfer was soon made, and when they were 
settled in the cars, Fred reverted at once to the ab- 
sorbing subject of Eric’s inheritance by inquiring ; 
“ And this Cousin John ? What is he like ? A young 
fellow or a married man with a family ? ” 

• “He’s married and has two boys, of ten and 
twelve. You must know that Uncle Eric came back 
to this country about five years a^o and invested 
23art of his fortune in government bonds and real 
estate. Among other property, he purchased a very 
handsome country place at Cedarbrook, about fifteen 
miles from New York. That is where Cousin John 
and his family are now living, and where I expected 
to be at this minute, if it hadn’t been for that ac- 
cident. By the way, I forgot to tell you that I lost 
my satchel, umbrella and wallet, with letters from 
Cousin John and other particulars about the inherit- 
ance. I had to stop at a drug store in New York 
and buy a pocket comb.” 

“ It’s lucky you met me, then. You can come 
right into my room at the hotel, and I can lend you 
anything you want. Won’t the family be surprised 
when I walk in with you, and announce that I’ve 


22 


EKIC DANE. 


captured the hero of Newark meadows and the heir 
to Chinese Dane’s fortune ! By the way, I hope you 
won’t be too swell to look at a fellow when I come 
back.” 

“ What nonsense ! Aren’t you the only friend I’ve 
got in America ? But you’ll be going to college in 
the autumn, won’t you?” 

“Yes, to Harvard. What are you going to do?” 

“ I may go there, too. What glorious sport ! ” 

And then the two felt to chatting on football, 
tennis, baseball and Cicero, until the cars ran up be- 
side the tumbling surf, and the conductor called out 
“ Manhattan Beach.” 

Eric was received most hospitably by the March- 
mans, who remembered him as a little boy. 

Many plans were made for jolly times during the 
winter by Fred and his sister Daisy. The latter be- 
came greatly interested in Louise Appleby, when she 
heard about the accident. 

It was very late when our hero retired, and equally 
so when he and Fred awoke on the following morning. 

“ I ought to telegraph to Cousin John,” said Eric 
while they were dressing. “ When he sees that the 
Mystic has arrived he won’t know what has become 
of me.” 

“But you’ll be out there before lunch yourself,” 
returned his friend, “ and the way they manage de- 
liveries in some places, you’ll arrive about as soon 
as the message.” 

So Eric did not telegraph, but passed an exciting 
morning seeing his friends off on their long pleasure 
trip. He had an opportunity to explore the yacht 
Charmer from stem to stern, and then at noon was 
rowed ashore with other friends of the two families. 

He took the steamboat back to New York, and in 
the course of half an hour was once more seated in 
a train bound for Cedarbrook. 


ERIC DANE. 


23 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE COUSINS MEET. 

There were not many passengers aboard the train, 
and each was absorbed in the newspaper accounts of 
the previous evening’s frightful accident on the road 
over which they were now traveling. Eric bought 
a Herald, and was thrilled with horror as he read the 
story of the full extent of the disaster. 

“Tliie gf'eat majority of those in the ill fated last car 
were burned beyond recognition,” ran the descrip- 
tion. “Indeed, their friends Avill be deprived even 
of the poor consolation of according their remains 
Christian burial, so completely were they cremated 
before the flames were subdued. As a matter of fact, 
so inadequate were the facilities for extinguishing it, 
that the Are burned on until there was literally 
nothing further left for it to feed upon. Not for 
many years has so appalling a railroad catastrophe 
occurred in this vicinity. Although, of course, no 
accurate estimate of the number of lives lost can 
now be given, it is safe to say that it is not far from 
forty.” 

Further on our hero read that “ a brave rescue of 
a young girl, Miss Louise Appleby, was made by a 
young man whose name could not be learned. Miss 
Appleby is a young actress of great promise, who 
has been selected by the management of the Square 
Theater to fill the role of the blind girl in their 
forthcoming production of ^Fairfield Farm.’” 


24 


ERIC DANE. 


The scene of the accident, Eric was glad to find, 
had been passed while he was reading, and he now 
concentrated all his thoughts on Cedarbrook, where 
the train presently drew up. 

It proved to be a small place, made up principally 
of suburban villas of wealthy men from the city. 
Situated on a high plateau, with a small sized moun- 
tain rearing itself picturesquely in the background, 
and provided with neatly macadamized roads, flag 
walks and fine overarching trees, the first impression 
made by the village, if such it could be called, was a 
most favorable one. 

Eric was the only passenger to leave the cars at 
this stop, and as no one was to be seen about the 
neat little station, he stood for an instant on the 
platform, undecided which way to turn. 

' But of course I couldn’t expect Cousin John to 
be here to meet me, as I failed to send him word,” 
he told himself. Then, turning to the old man who 
was raising the gates that guarded the track cross- 
ing, he inquired : 

Can you tell me which way to get to the Dane 
place ? ” 

‘‘Mr. Tilbert’s you mane? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Keep up this strate till ye come to the big elm 
tree, and there it’s on your right hand side. Shure, 
an’ that’s a sad happening to the family, sir.” 

“ Sad happening ? ” exclaimed Eric, in surprise. 
“ What do you mean ? 

“Shure, an’ haven’t ye heard? ” and the old Irish- 
man left his gate to come over to where our hero 
was standing on the sidewalk, in the shade. 

“Heard what?” 

Eric began to grow interested. 

“ Why, about the turrible accident on the railroad 
last night, an’ how young Mr. Eric Dane, Mr. Til- 


L me DANE. 


25 


bert’s cousin, that was a cornin’ over from England 
to live with him, was aboard the train and burnt in- 
toirely to nothing, along with the other onfortunates 
in the last car.” 

‘‘ How did you hear this ? ” asked our hero, so as- 
tounded by the intelligence that he never thought 
of contradicting it, and was only intent on finding- 
out further particulars. 

While the gatekeeper, glad of so interested a lis- 
tener, went on with his story, Eric stepped back to 
lean against the fence. 

“Wh3% it’s all over the place,” the old man con- 
tinued. “ The news was brought late last night by 
a young lad I see myself when he got off the train, 
with his arm in a sling and his face all scratches. 
He inquired the way to Mr. Tilbert’s, the same as 
you’ve been after doin’ yourself, and their coachman 
told me this mornin’ that tha,t young chap had been 
settin’ in the same seat with poor Mr. Eric. He’d just 
handed over his card — they two young fellers being 
quick to get acquainted, you know — when the cars 
rolled over. He managed to crawl out o’ one o’ the 
winders just afore the fire got to him, and picked up 
poor young Mr. Eric’s pocket book and found letters 
in it from Mr. Tilbert. So he came up here last 
night with the news.” 

But Eric did not wait to hear any more. Turning 
quickly, he almost ran up the street in the direction 
pointed out by the old gatekeeper. 

“How cruel of me to allow this terrible blunder 
to be made!” he said to himself. “How much 
anxiety and grief I could have saved them by a tel- 
egram ! Still, how was I to know that that boy who 
sat next to me would come here ? ” 

In less than five minutes he reached the big elm 
tree, and turning in at a handsome stone gateway, 
hastened uj^ the graveled drive to the house. 


20 


EKIC DANE. 


The latter was a modern structure of the Queen 
Anne type and very attractive in appearance, while 
the lawns, flower beds and shrubbery on the grounds 
about it were all kept in the most perfect order. 

“What a grateful fellow I should be,” thought 
Eric, as he noted all these points, “ to feel that I have 
been spared from the fate that overtook so many 
last night, to enjoy the comforts of a home like 
this ! ” 

No one was to be seen about the place, and all the 
shutters of the house were closed. Eric could not 
forbear a slight shudder, as he reflected on the pos- 
sible imj^ort of this darkening. He glanced nerv- 
ously to the right of the front door, expecting to see 
crape fastened to the bell handle. 

But the electric button was free from any such 
ominous drapery, and as our hero stepped upon the 
piazza and pressed his finger to it, his heart began 
to throb with quickened beat. 

The door was opened by a solemn Swedish butler. 

“ Is Mr. Tilbert at home ? ” said Eric. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Will you please hand me a card, and I will write 
my name for you to take up to him ? ” 

The man stepped to the drawing room, selected a 
card from the twenty or thirty in a silver salver on 
a table near the door and returned wdth it to Eric. 
The latter drew his pencil from his pocket, and after 
running it through the engraved name — that of some 
lady — wrote a-s follows : “ Cousin John : I was not 
hurt in last night’s accident. Have heard of the re- 
port you have received, and have turned up as large 
as life to contradict it. Eric Dane.” 

“ If you will kindly hand that to Mr. Tilbert,” he 
said, “ I will wait on the piazza.” 

Five minutes passed and no sound had come from 
within. Eric began to grow impatient. 


ERIC BANE. 


27 


He was tired, dusty and hot, and anxious to get to 
his room. Of course this was his own house, but 
still it was necessary to observe a little formality in 
taking possession of his apartments, especially as the 
other occupants believed him to be dead. 

But at last a step sounded on the tiling in the hall, 
not a quick one, as Eric naturally supposed would 
be that with which his cousin would come to greet 
him, but a slow, almost reluctant tread, as though 
the walker would rather be going in the opposite 
direction. 

Eric rose and stretched out his hand, as a man of 
about thirty five stepped from the doorway on to the 
piazza. 

“ You see. Cousin John, I wasn’t — ” he began, then 
stopped abruptly, as the other simply stood facing 
him, taking no notice of his outstretched hand and 
with no shadow of a smile on his grave countenance. 

“ I beg your pardon,” Eric added after a second, 
concluding that the gentleman must be a guest of 
the family ; “I thought you were Mr. Tilbert.” 

“So I am,” said the other, and then our hero 
noticed that he held in his hand the card handed 
him by the butler. “ I am Mr. John Tilbert, and am 
at a loss to know,” (holding up the card) “ how any 
person can have the hardihood to come here at such 
a time, and attempt such an imposition.” 

“ Imposition ! ” Eric ejaculated. 

All his strength seemed to have left him, and he 
sank back on the chair almost like one in a swoon. 

“Yes, imposition,” repeated Mr. Tilbert, tearing 
the card into small piece? as he spoke, and dropping 
them to the floor of the piazza. “ My cousin, Eric 
Dane, met with a most shocking death only last 
night, and knowing him to be the heir to vast wealth, 
and that he was not personally known to me, you have 
undertaken the bold scheme of impersonating him. 


28 


EBIC DANE. 


What proofs have you to show me to substantiate 
your claim ? ” 

Proofs ! The word fell on Eric’s ear almost like a 
knell, for what could he reply? All the letters, 
statements, and memoranda relating to himself and 
his inheritance were in that wallet, and that was now 
in the possession of Mr. Tilbert. Like a flash of 
lightning the realization of the whole dastardly plot 
to rob him of his inheritance flashed over the boy. 

His silence was fatal, he knew, yet what could he 
do ? He was absolutely helpless, caught fast in the 
toils of this man, whose crime seemed almost too 
monstrous for belief. 

“ Aha, you are dumb ! ” said the other. “ You 
should have had some sort of a story ready. But 
why do I waste my time with you ? You are an im- 
postor. Go 1 ” 


ERIC DANE 


29 


CHAPTER V. 

CAST ADRIFT. 

By this time Eric had recovered somewhat from 
the shock Mr. Tilbert’s astounding course of action 
had given him. He now began to rally his forces 
for an assertion of his rights. 

Mr. Tilbert/* he began, you know that I am your 
cousin, Eric Dane, as well as you know that there is 
a sun in the sky.” 

“ You are impudent, boy,” was the other’s retort. 
“I have told you once to leave the grounds. Do 
you wish me to use force to put you off ? ” 

“ I will go — presently. Although I have as good 
a right here, and better, than yourself, I did not 
come prepared to assert that right by force. To do 
so requires a little preparation. But before I go, I 
would like to ask you what proofs the boy who was 
here last night gave you to convince you that he 
was correct in announcing my death ? ” 

‘‘I decline to discuss the matter with you. I have 
said that you are an impostor, seeking to foist your- 
self into the shoes of a young man known to be the 
heir to an immense jDroperty, and who met an un- 
timely fate while on his way to take possession of 
it. Whether you crossed with him in the steamer, 
or were a chance traveling companion in the train, 
I neither know nor care to know. My time is valua- 
ble, so you will oblige me by acknowledging your 


30 


ERIC BANE. 


defeat and retiring at once ; ” and with these words 
Mr. Tilbert, who had taken out a cigar, coolly 
lighted it, stepped off the piazza, and sauntered 
away toward the stables. 

To follow him was our hero’s first impulse, then 
his pride rebelled. 

“ Press myself on such a man, beg him to take me 
in as though I were a tramp ! ” he muttered to him- 
self. “Never! It is impossible that he can suc- 
ceed in establishing such a preposterous claim. 
The law will see me righted, and mete out such pun- 
ishment as the crime deserves. But now I must get 
away somewhere and think quietly. It has all been 
so sudden, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.” 

With no definite idea where he was going, or just 
what he proposed to do, Eric walked rapidly down 
the drive to the gate. As he reached the latter a 
sudden thought struck him. 

“ That fellow in the train I ” he exclaimed to him- 
self, at the same instant breaking into a run for the 
station. “If I can get him and bring him here to 
confront this precious cousin of mine, that will be 
all the proof I want. If I can only find him I ” 

He had resolved on inquiring at the station for 
what point the unknown youth had bought his 
ticket after his call at the Tilberts’. 

It was now between one and two o’clock, almost 
the hottest time of the day, and the perspiration 
was pouring down Eric’s face in streams when he 
reached the railroad. 

Fearful lest a train bound for the point he wished 
to reach might come along at any instant, he rushed 
into the waiting room and up to the ticket window. 

“Do you remember selling a ticket late last 
night,” he pantingly inquired of the agent, “ to a 
young fellow about my size in a brown suit, a straw 
hat, and — and ” 


EBIC DANE. 


31 


Eric paused, partly to recover breath, principally 
because he could think of no other terms in which 
to describe the a 2 :)pearance of his seat mate in that 
ill fated car. 

“ Well, I can easily answer your question,” laughed 
the man behind the window. “ I didn’t sell a ticket 
to anybody after 7 : 30 last night. People don’t travel 
much in the cars from this station after dark. 
What’s up ? Has your house been robbed ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” faintly responded Eric, turning away to 
drop into a seat near the door. 

He was sadly disappointed. 

What could have become of the fellow? Perhaps 
he was at the Tilberts’. That, however, was very 
improbable. It might be that he lived in Cedar- 
brook, although he had not mentioned the fact when 
Eric spoke of that as being his own destination. 

“ Perhaps that old gateman will know something 
about it,” was the thought that now occurred to him. 

The man recognized him at once, and greeted him 
with, “ An’ I suppose now that Mr. Tilbert do be all 
broke up over this terrible occurrence. An’ may I 
inquire whether you be yourself a relative of that 
young man’s ? ” 

“Well, I’m rather a close connection of his,” was 
Eric’s answer. Even in the distracted state of mind 
in which he was plunged, he could not forbear a 
bitter smile as he uttered the words. 

The old Irishman noticed it, and was not a little 
shocked. 

“ He might show more respect for the dead even 
if they can’t find any remains to hould a funeral 
over,” he said to himself. 

Ignorant of the horror he had caused, Eric went 
on hurriedly : “ You remember the young fellow 
3 'ou told me about a little while ago ? The one that 
brought the news of my 


32 


EEIC DANE. 


He checked himself abruptly. He had been about 
to say “my death.” He remembered just in time 
that he must be careful, if he did not wish to be 
taken for an escaped lunatic. 

“ I mean the boy who came to Mr; Tilbert’s and 
told him about the accident,” he went on. “Well, 
I would like to know if you can tell me whether he 
lives here in Cedarbrook, or anywhere near ? ” 

“ Well, thin, I don't know anything about him,” 
Was the sharp retort of the gateman, and there w'as 
such a marked contrast in his manner to what it 
had been but a short time previous, that Eric could 
not but be sensible of the change. 

“ All Cedarbrook seems to be in league against 
me,” he murmured, as he turned again toward the 
waiting room. 

Poor fellow! Could he be expected to realize 
that he had himself brought about the alteration in 
the old Irishman’s manner by his apparent lack of 
respect for the dead ? 

“ Can you tell me where I can find a hotel ? ” he 
inquired, presenting himself once more at the ticket 
window. 

“ Certainly,” was the brisk response. “ Cross the 
track and follow Wentworth Avenue till you come 
to a big red barn. Just opposite you will see a path 
running off into the woods.' That’ll be a short cut 
to the Bluff House.” 

Eric thanked the man, and lost no time in follow- 
ing the directions given. He was growing faint 
with hunger, as he had hal no opportunity of get- 
ting anything to eat since breakfasting at Manhat- 
tan Beach. 

How long ago that seemed, when he was so gay 
and full of spirits with his friends, planning for the 
good times they would all have during the winter ! 
Bat setting his teeth a little closer together, Eric 
determined not to think of the past. 


EKIC DANE. 


33 


“ What I’ve got to do now,” he told himself, “ is 
to keep up my spirits, and fight for my rights.” 

At this point he happened to be passing a pretty 
Queen Anne cottage, in front of which stood a car- 
riage and a wagon load of trunks. Eric passed just 
as a gentleman, after locking the front door, joined 
a lady at the gate. 

“Now, Herbert, are you sure the house will be 
safe without a soul in it while we are away?” Eric 
heard the latter say ; “ Those shutters look so frail. 
If we could only have got Bridget to stay! ” 

“Nonsense, Edna,” was the gentleman’s response. 
“We are to be gone only a week.” 

That was all Eric heard, and he gave no special 
attention to it at the time. Indeed, his mind was 
so full of his own troubles that there was little 
space in it for the worries of other people. He 
kept on his way, and presently entered the narrow 
path that led through the woods toward the Bluff 
House. 

He had gone a considerable distance without see- 
ing any signs -of the other end, and was regretting 
that he had not inquired of the man at the station 
just how far it was, when a gruff' voice startled him. 

“Will you oblige a poor man with a few pennies 
for a sup of dinner ? ” it said. 

Its owner had stepped out from behind a tree. 
And what a man ! His hat was riddled with holes, 
his coat was nothing but a mass of patches of vari- 
ous sizes and colors ; his trousers, which had once 
been gray, but were now the color of the earth, 
were tied' about his waist with a string, and were of 
varying length, the short leg vanishing into a boot 
that looked as if it might have been fished out of 
an ash barrel, while the long leg was not quite long- 
enough to make close connection with a disreputa- 
ble gaiter. 


34 


EEIC DANE. 


“No, I’m not exactly a pretty boy, leastways not 
under present circumstances, nor what you would 
call a dude, by my clothes, but I’m hungry all the 
same, and I want money,” and the man gave his out- 
stretched. hand an unpleasantly close hitch towards 
Eric’s chin. 


EEIC DANE. 


35 


CHAPTER YI. 

A PECULIAR TRAMP. 

“I have nothing for you/’ said Eric. am hun- 
gry myself.” 

“Well, then,” coolly suggested the tramp, “invite 
me to dinner with you. I won’t stand on no cere- 
mony. It’s daytime, and I can git along without 
my s waller tail.” 

“ The fellow must be crazy,” thought our hero, 
and he started to hurry on without vouchsafing any 
reply. 

But the man was evidently resolved to make the 
best of the lonely locality in which the chance en- 
counter had come about. Taking a step nearer 
Eric, he stretched out three of his dirty fingers and 
began to toy with our hero’s watch chain in an off 
hand way, as though he were a familiar friend who 
felt himself entitled to take liberties. 

Eric drew back so shar23ly that' his Avatch, a hand- 
some gold one, a present on his sixteenth birthday, 
slid from his pocket. 

The tramp caught it dexterously, and, slipping it 
back in its place, leered unpleasantly as he patted 
Eric on the shoulder, and warningly remarked : 
“ You’d oughter be more careful, my young friend, 
how you shoAV off your wallybles in lonely spots 
like this.” 

“ Let me go, I say,” cried Eric, making a desj^er- 
ate effort to free himself from the grasp of this un- 


36 


EKIC DANE. 


welcome acquaintance. But the man had a grif) 
like iron. 

“I’ve took a fancy to you, young feller,” he went 
on, “and as long you won’t invite me to dinner 
along of you, where we could do our chattin’ peace- 
able like. I’ll invite you to set down alongside of me 
on thi^ tree trunk and rest yourself awhile. I know 
you must be clean tuckered out and hotter’n pep- 
per.” 

As he spoke, the tramp passed his other arm 
around our hero’s back, and forced him to sit down 
on a log that lay on the edge of the path. 

This was the last straw. Eric, weary, warm, sick 
at heart almost, was in no humor to be trifled with. 

The next instant, conquering his aversion to touch- 
ing the man, he drew back his arm suddenly, and, 
before the tramp could guess at his intentions, had 
planted a ringing blow in the man’s face, directly 
between his eyes. 

The fellow reeled for an instant, but never relaxed 
his hold on Eric’s left arm. 

“Better yet,” he exclaimed. “I do like to see a 
proper spirit in a youngster of your years. That 
hurt now, I can tell you, and it does you proud, and 
makes me surer than I was afore that a brave ’un 
like you ain’t a goin’ to yell for help when a gentle- 
man stops him in the woods just to have a little 
chat.” 

“ Is that all you want ? ” panted our hero. The 
tramp’s fashion of taking such a blow as he had 
just given him was so peculiar that for an instant 
Eric forgot his animosity in amazement. 

“ Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you all along ? ” 
was the reply. “An’ it is my high regard for a 
youngster of your pluck that hinders me from 
havin’ you run in.” 

“ Bun in ? ” repeated Eric, in a tone of inquiry. 


EBIC DANE. 


37 


“ Yes ; jailed, snapped up by the cops for ’sault 
and battery.” 

“ Oh, I see. But you attacked me,” our hero be- 
gan, then checked himself. How absurd it was to 
be trying to exonerate himself for having resisted 
insult at the hands of a tramp ! 

“ Oh, attacked you, did I ? ” chuckled the other. 
“ Will you be so kind as to point to any mark on 
your person of the likes o’ this lump atween my 
eyes ? Come, now, what did I do to you ? ” 

“ You used force to keep me from going on my 
way,” replied Eric ; “ and — well, you’re about the 
coolest tramp I ever saw or heard of.” 

“Well, I must be purty comfortable, then, this 
weather. But come now, let’s talk about how we 
can compromise this here matter. How much will 
you fork over ? ” 

“ If you don’t take your hands off me,” began 

Eric, disregarding the question, “I’ll 

Hush ! ” hissed the tramp in his ear, accompany- 
ing the warning with such a severe pressure on his 
arm that no second command was needed. 

That which had caused the sudden exclamation 
was the appearance of a boy on a bicycle, coming 
along the path from the direction of the red barn. 
His rubber tired wheels made no sound, and the 
consequence was that he was close to the ill assorted 
couple on the log before they knew of his aj)25i’oach. 

The path was a narrow one, and, as trees bor- 
dered it closely on either side, there was no possi- 
bility for the young rider to turn out to avoid the 
obstruction which the feet of the tramp presented. 
The log was close to the i)ath, and when he sat down 
behind Eric, the man had stretched his legs out 
comfortably in front of him. 

This being the position of affairs, a “ header ” was 
unavoidable. But the boy was evidently used to 


38 


EBIC DANE. 


taking them, and, as the wheel came with a dull 
thud against the tramp’s boot, he took his hands 
from the steering bar and put them out in front of 
him, ready to clutch the ground as he was sent fly- 
ing in a neat curve through the air. 

“ Look a here, my son,” exclaimed the tramp, rub- 
bing his leg with one hand while he tried to disen- 
tangle himself from the bicycle with the other, “do 
you want to be run in for runnin’ over honest folks 
in this permiscuous manner? Come here, and take 
this infernal machine of yours off, will you ? ” 

Eric, who had been thus unexpectedly set free, 
lost no time in springing to his feet. 

“Are you hurt?” he inquired of the boy, as he 
assisted the latter to rise. 

“ Not a bit. It’s lucky, though, I wasn’t going 
very fast. Hope my machine isn’t broken ; ” and 
the youthful wheelman, who looked to be not over 
thirteen, hastened to raise his steed of steel. 

The tramp grumbled a good deal as, by the united 
efforts of Eric and its rider, the bicycle was lifted 
off his leg, but went no further in his manifestation 
of hostility. 

“ I guess I won’t mount again,” said the boy, as 
he asked Eric to hold his machine while he dusted 
the dirt from his knickerbockers. “ There are a lot 
of roots running across the path just above here, so 
I’d have got off before I got to the hotel, any way.” 

“I’ll walk along with you, then,” said our hero. 
“ I’m not quite sure of the way.” 

“ Come along. I’ll show you,” responded the boy, 
and the two started off. 

The tramp made no attempt either to detain or 
follow them. 

“You’ll hear from me again, young fellow,” Eric 
heard him sullenly mutter. The next moment he 
was hidden from sight by a bend in the path. 


EKIC DANE. 


39 




CHAPTEE Vn. 

PERCY TILBERT. 

There could, perhaps, be no greater contrast in 
appearance than that between the two companions 
with 'whom our hero had met by chance during the 
past quarter of an hour — the tramp and the young 
cyclist. 

The latter was a bright faced, handsome lad, neatly 
dressed in a tennis suit of blue and white. In his 
left hand he carried a racquet, of which Eric pres- 
ently offered to relieve him, as the numerous twists 
of the path rendered the guiding of the machine 
quite an absorbing task. 

“ Thanks,” said the boy, as he handed it over. “ I 
can manage it better when I’m riding than I can this 
way. I s’l^ose I oughtn’t to play today any way, but 
it’s a match game and my name was down. Besides, 
it isn’t as if there was to be a funeral.” 

Eric looked mystified, as well he might. 

“ Oh, but I forgot — you don’t know about it,” went 
on the boy, adding : “ I’d like to hear what you think, 
so I’ll tell you how it is.” 

He rested his chin on the saddle as he pushed his 
wheel slowly along, and looking gravely up into our 
hero’s face continued thus : 

“You see, there was a cousin of mine, about your 
age, I should think, coming to live with us. He’d 
been staying over in England for ever so many years, 
and none of our family had ever seen him. Well, we 
expected him yesterday — or today, I mean — but the 


40 


ERIC DANE. 


steamer got in ahead of time and he started to come 
out here on that train that fell off the bridge last 
night. And a chap came to our house about nine 
o’clock with his pocketbook and told us he’d been 
sitting next to him in the last car, and that Eric — 
that’s my cousin, you know — must have been roasted 
alive. Wasn’t it awful? And Everett — he’s my 
brother — says I oughtn’t to play today. What do 
you think ? ” 

As a matter of fact, Eric was thinking so busily 
that he scarcely heard the question. How strange 
that chance should have thrown in his way this boy, 
who was without doubt his cousin, Percy Tilbert, 
one of the sons of the man Avho had deliberately un- 
dertaken to keep him out of his rights ! 

What should he do? Ought he to declare himself 
to this boy, and endeavor to convince him that he 
was no impostor, but the veritable Cousin Eric whom 
they had been expecting, and for whose death the 
small boy’s conscience evidently told him he should 
be at that moment mourning ? 

But this course would, in case our hero succeeded, 
involve the destroying of a son’s respect for his 
parent, and this it seemed a cruel thing to do. Here 
was, however, an opportunity to learn the particulars 
of the way in which the news of his supposed death 
had been announced to Mr. Tilbert. 

“Are you sure your cousin was killed, though?” 
Eric inquired, after an instant’s reflection. “Per- 
haps he succeeded in getting out of the car in the 
same way that this other young fellow, who brought 
you the news, must have done. He may turn up 
yet.” 

“ Do you think he will ? ” exclaimed the other, his 
face brightening. “But then this other chap seemed 
so certain that he hadn’t got out. He was awfully 
frightened himself.” 


EKIC DANE. 


41 


** Does he live in Cedarbrook ? ” inquired Eric, so 
eagerly that the boy seemed a little sur2:)rised. 

“No,” he answered, “but I guess it can’t be very 
far off, because father sent the coachman to drive 
him home last night.” 

“ And you don’t know his name ? ” went on Eric in 
a voice that he strove hard to keep steady. 

“I forget it. It was a funny one with a McQuirl 
or something like that in it. Why, do you know 
him ? ” 

“ I’ve seen him,” admitted Eric. “ And I’d like 
very much to see him again. But isn’t that the Bluff 
House just ahead?” 

Our hero was glad to make this diversion in a con- 
versation that was beginning to grow embarrassing. 

“ Yes, and that’s Charley and the rest waiting for 
me,” responded the boy, as he waved his cap and 
gave vent to a private signal whistle. 

“You’re going to stay at the hotel, aren’t you?” 
he added, turning to our hero. “ Come and see us 
play ; don’t you want to ? ” 

“ I will as soon as I get my dinner,” returned our 
hero, whose spirits had been wonderfully revived by 
his encounter with young Tilbert. He felt assured 
that he would now have but little trouble in ascer- 
taining the whereabouts of that train companion of 
his who had been the cause of placing him in his 
present awkward predicament. 

Leaving Percy with his young friends on the lawn, 
Eric presented himself at the office, engaged a room, 
and after refreshing himself with a bath, disposed of 
a hearty dinner, by which time it was four o’clock. 

“ I must see the Tilberts’ coachman,” he said to 
himself, as he sauntered out on the lawn to watch the 
spirited tournament going on between the boy tennis 
players of the hotel and those of the cottages in the 
neighborhood. 


42 


ERIC DANE. 


He had conceived a strong fancy for Percy Til- 
bert, and it seemed impossible to believe that he was 
the son of his father. 

“ Yet, who knows ? ” mused Eric, in the enthusiasm 
of his newborn hope. “ Perhaps the man really and 
truly believes me to be an impostor. But if I can 
once get hold of that fellow with a McQuirl to his 
name, things will soon be settled one way or the 
other.” 

Indeed, so encouraging did the outlook appear to 
him that when presently Percy came running up to 
announce that he had won the singles, and to ask 
him if he didn’t want to play a set with him, he con- 
sented at once. 

Eric was thoroughly at home on the tennis court, 
and spent the remainder of the afternoon very agree- 
ably in a trial of skill with the young players, with 
whom he speedily became on the best of terms. 

Percy remained to tea with his friend Charley 
Shaw, and having arranged to loan him his bicycle 
till the next afternoon, started to walk home about 
seven o’clock. 

“I’ll go along with you to fight the tramp and 
find out the name of that McQuirl somebody or 
other,” volunteered Eric. 

The boy gladly accepted his company and the two 
struck into the path through the wood. They had 
just reached the other end of it when Eric suddenly 
halted, and catching Percy by the arm, exclaimed in 
a low voice : “ Didn’t you see that shutter move on 
that cottage?” 

“ Yes, but what of it ? That’s the Andersons’, and 
the girl is only shutting the blinds.” 

“ But there isn’t anybody home,” exclained Eric, 
and he went on to relate the scrap of conversation 
he had overheard between the husband and wife early 
in the afternoon. 


ERIC DANE. 


43 


Perhaps that’s what that tramp was loafing 
around for,” suggested Percy. “Just as likely as 
not he’s taken this time when everybody is at home 
for supper to pry open a window and slip in. He’s 
afraid somebody will come around to mount guard 
after dark.” 

“I sujDpose we ought to find out,” said Eric. 
“Are there any policemen in Cedarbrook?” 

“ There’s a constable, but I don’t know where he 
lives. I’ll tell you what to do. I’ll go to the front 
door and ring the bell, and you can stand by that 
window and see if the tramp jumps out. If it should 
happen to be any of the Andersons they’ll come to 
the door.” 

“Not a bad idea,” commented Eric. Taking out 
his knife, he stepped back to the woods, cut a stout 
stick for himself and then the two proceeded to carry 
out Percy’s plan. 

They struck across the lawn toward the Anderson 
cottage, and while the younger boy went around to 
the front, Eric took up his stand near the window at 
which the movement had been observed, and which 
was in the rear of the house. 

The next instant the electric bell began to sound, 
and a second later the shutters were thrown open 
and the ugly visage of the tramp appeared. 

He was in the act of jumping out wdien he caught 
sight of Eric. 

He at once sprang back and vanished. Impul- 
sively our hero darted forward, and putting his 
hand on the window sill, vaulted lightly into the 
room in pursuit. 

Scarcely had he done so when the tramp sprang 
from a corner where he had been concealed, and, 
throwing his arms about Eric’s shoulders, held him 
fast. 


41 


EEIO DANE. 


CHAPTEE YIIL 

A FRESH HUMILIATION. 

Eric knew by experience that it would be worse 
than useless to attempt to escape from the grasp of 
the tramp by struggling. Besides, there was Percy 
Tilbert still ringing the front door bell. He would 
certainly come around to the window in a few min- 
utes, and help Eric to get free. 

But to oar hero’s astonishment the tramp now be- 
gan walking him off in the direction of the front 
door. 

“ It ain’t perlite to keep folks a waitin’,” he said. 
“ So we’ll let ’em in, whoever it is, an’ give ourselves 
up peaceable . It’s purty warm to be trampin’ about 
the country these days, so a nice cool cell will come 
in handy fer a month or two. We’ll tiy an’ persuade 
the judge ter let us room together, me boy, so’s we 
can go on with our interestin’ conversation — why, 
hullo, if here ain’t the very kid that interrupted it ! ” 

This last exclamation was elicited when the tramp 
drew back the bolts and opened the door to discover 
Percy on the other side of it. 

At the same moment a gentleman drivijig by in a 
buggy drew uj) his horse and called out, “ Percy is 
that you? I was coming after you. AVhat are you 
doing ‘here ? ” 

Eric looked up and saw that the man, who had now 
alighted and was fastening his horse to a hitching 
post, was none other than his cousin, John Tilbert. 


ERIC DANE. 


45 


Doubtless emboldened by the presence of his par- 
ent, Percy, after calling out to the latter, “ Come 
here, quick, father,” laid his arm on Eric’s arm, and 
addressing himself to the tramp, went on : “What 
are you holding on to my friend for? Let go of 
him.” 

“ Oh, here’s another high strung lad for us ! ” an- 
swered the man of rents and patches, seeming in no 
wise disconcerted by the advent of Mr. Tilbert on 
the scene. 

On the contrary, he advanced down the path to 
meet him, dragging the unwilling Eric along with 
him. 

By this time Mr. Tilbert had come up, and Eric 
noticed that a peculiar look flashed across his face 
when he first recognized who it was that the tramp 
had beside him. It was an expression in which sur- 
prise mingled with triumph and satisfaction, the lat- 
ter predominating. 

Percy was trying to explain how he and Eric had 
laid a trap to capture the would be burglar, but his 
father motioned to him to be silent. 

“We give ourselves up,” began the tramp. “It 
ain’t no use buttin’ agin the law any longer, is it, 
pard ? ” 

“How dare you couple yourself with me in this 
manner ? ” cried Eric, provoked beyond all bounds 
by the cool insolence of the vagabond. “ Your own 
son will explain to you, Mr. Tilbert,” he went on, 
“ how we discovered this man in the act of robbing 
this house, and that I sprang in through the dining- 
room window to capture him.” 

“An’ perhaps that boy will explain, too,” put in 
the tramp, “ how he saw us a sittin’ together like two 
brothers on a log in the woods a plannin’ this werry 
robbery.” 

“ What an outrageous falsehood ! ” exclaimed Eric. 


46 


EEIC DANE. 


‘‘Is that so, Percy? ” sharply queried Mr. Tilbert, 
turning to his son. “ Where did you meet this young 
man ? Who is he, and what name did he give you ? ” 

“I don’t know his name,” answered the boy, an 
anxious look coming over his face ; “I never thought 
to ask him. I was riding up to the Bluff House 
through the woods on my bicycle, when I ran over 
that man’s leg and took a header. And this other 
one picked me up and went on with me to the hotel. 
We played tennis together, and then, Avhen I lent my 
machine to Charley Shaw, he offered to walk home 
with me.” 

“And was he sitting with this — this man, when 
you first saw him in the woods ? ” asked Mr. Tilbert. 
His tone was a stern one, and his heavy eyebrows 
met in a frown above his nose as he put the question. 

“I — I don’t know. I’m not quite sure. I hadn’t 
time to see much before I took my tumble,” replied 
the boy gravely, conscious that somehow his testi- 
mony was going to get his unknown, but admired 
friend into trouble. Then, suddenly brightening up, 
he added : “ But he says that perhaps Cousin Eric 
wasn’t killed after all.” 

At this mention Mr. Tilbert frowned more severely 
than ever, and, catching Percy by the hand, drew 
him aside with the command : “ Go out and get into 
the buggy ; you must never speak to this young man 
again. He is a rascal. That is all you need know 
at present. I will deal with both of these fellows.” 

Poor Eric! What could he say to prevent this 
misconception, of his character from taking root in 
the boy’s mind? Circumstances did certainly ap- 
pear to be against him, for he could not deny that 
he had been sitting with the tramp in the woods. 
Of course he could explain how it came about, but of 
what avail was his simple word with such a man as 
he now knew his cousin John Tilbert to be? And 


EEIC DANE. 


47 


how could he expect a son to disregard his father’s 
wishes ? 

But he now became conscious that John Tilbert 
was addressing him. 

“ I cannot say I am surprised to meet you again 
under these circumstances,” he was saying. 

“Umph!” muttered the tramp, evidently not a 
little astonished at the ease he was having in carry- 
ing out his scheme of vengeance against Eric for the 
blow the latter had given him. 

“ It is without doubt my duty to hand you over to 
the authorities,” went on Mr. Tilbert ; “ but in con- 
sideration of your youth I will let you off if you will 
promise to leave Cedarbrook — both of you, I mean,” 
turning for an instant toward the tramp, who stood 
regarding him with open mouthed amazement. 

Eric silently ground his teeth. To be treated in 
this fashion by the man who was robbing him of his 
inheritance, and he helpless as a babe ! It was mad- 
dening, but by a supreme effort the boy controlled 
himself. It could not be possible that this iniqui- 
tous plot could succeed in the end. He would bide 
his time. 

Meanwhile it was important that his character in 
the eyes of the world should be kept as free from 
suspicion as possible ; so, humiliating as it seemed, 
he forced himself to bow his head in token of accept- 
ance of Mr. Tilbert’s clemency. 

“ Mind you,” repeated the latter, ‘‘ the conditions 
are that you both take yourselves out of the place at 
once. Now be off. Wait there, Percy, while I close 
this house up.” 

During the interview with Mr. Tilbert, the tramp 
had relinquished his hold on our hero’s arm, and 
Eric took care that he should not again have a chance 
to renew it. Turning quickly, he vaulted over the 
low fence and was several yards down the street in 


48 


ERIC DANE. 


the direction of the station before his would be com- 
panion realized that he had given him the slip. 

‘‘Well, this is a brilliant fashion for a fellow to en- 
ter into an inheritance of a million or so,” murmured 
Eric to himself as he paused to recover breath. 
“ What would Fred say to all this ? And where am 
I to go next? Jove, though, I mustn’t go at all 
without paying my bill at the hotel. I won’t, either; 
and what’s more. I’ll stay here till morning, too. 
Then off to New York to see a lawyer. But there’s 
my trunk.” 

A sudden idea in connection with this latter caused 
him to go through all his pockets, turning them in- 
side out in the hope of coming across the bit of metal 
entitling him to receive the piece of baggage marked 
“Eric Dane, Liverpool.” 

But it was not forthcoming, and he was forced to 
conclude that it, too, had been in that ill fated wal- 
let which might better a thousand times have been 
burned to ashes than that it should have been pre- 
served to fall into the hands of John Tilbert. 

“ He must have my trunk at his house,” Eric mut- 
tered, with a wrathful grinding of his heel into the 
earth. “ Why, he is no better than a thief, if he 
keeps it, and of course he can’t give it up without 
acknowledging by the act that I have some claim on 
him.” 

And now the project to obtain an audience with 
his seat mate had been upset. Since that encounter 
at the Anderson cottage it would be extremely haz- 
ardous to attempt to enter the grounds and obtain 
an interview with the Tilberts’ coachman. Verily it 
seemed that with every movement Eric did but 
plunge into fresh difficulties. 

Meanwhile, he must support himself in some way, 
while devising means for ascertaining the where- 
abouts of the boy whose name began with a McQuiii. 


ERIC DANE. 


49 


A train had just halted at the station, and while 
Eric stood leaning against a tree by the roadside, 
looking off down the valley at the sunset, and won- 
dering how this strange chapter of his life was going 
to end, he became aware of a sound of puffing draw- 
ing nearer and nearer to him up the hill. The next 
moment he turned to confront Mr. Alonzo Appleby 
and his daughter, Louise. 


50 


ERIC BANE. 


CHAPTEK IX. 

AN UNLOCKED FOE OPENING. 

“ Why, Louise, look, my dear ! Have we not be- 
fore us the young gentleman who so courageously 

to be sure we have,” and noting the smile of assent 
and recognition in his daughter’s eyes, Mr. Appleby 
seized Eric by the hand and gave him another of those 
very emphatic greetings which invariably necessi- 
tated the application of the red spotted handkerchief 
to his rubicund countenance. 

Our hero took otf his hat and expressed his pleas- 
ure at the meeting. 

“ Are 3^ou living here in Cedarbrook, Mr. Mr. 

? ” went on the old gentleman, when he had re- 
covered the breath he had expended so profusely. 

“ Dane,” interposed Eric. “ My name is Eric 
Dane ; ” and as he spoke, how earnestly did he wish 
that he had given it the previous evening. Perhaps 
in that case he might have been able to prove his 
identity by these acquaintances. 

Mr. Appleby and his daughter both started on 
hearing the name. 

“ AVhy, how can that be, my young friend ? ” ex- 
claimed the former, stopping short (for they had all 
three been walking on in the direction of the Bluff 
House) to gaze at our hero with every evidence of 
the deepest astonishment. Then, taking a Newark 
paper from his pocket, he folded it to a certain par- 
agraph and handed it to Eric to read, tapping the 


EKTC DANE. 


51 


sheet with a fat forefinger and a wise nod of the 
head, as though to say : “ There, are you sure your 
name is Eric Dane now ? ” 

Eric took the paper with almost breathless eager- 
ness, and holding it so as to catch the last rays of 
the fading sunset, read as follows : 

SAD FATE OF THE HEIK TO THE DANE FOETUNE. 

Among: the passengers on the ill fated train was Eric Dane, a 
youth of sixteen, who had just arrived from Europe and was on 
his way to Cedarbrook to take possession of the fortune left 
him by his uncle, Mr. Eric F. Dane, whose country seat at that 
place has excited so much admiration. 

“I am Eric Dane, nevertheless,” said our hero, 
when he had finished the foregoing. “It is all a 
mistake, but an unlucky one for me.” 

Then he briefly told the whole story, concluding 
with these words : “ And now Mr. Appleby, you are 
at liberty to decide for yourself whether you will be- 
lieve Mr. John Tilbert or me. But I can say this 
much, if I’m not Eric Dane I’d like to know very 
much who else I am.” 

“You amaze, I may say you overwhelm me,” ejac- 
ulated Mr. Appleby, standing off to take Eric in 
from hat to shoes, as though he was mentally meas- 
uring him for a new suit. “ How is it possible for 
this cousin to claim that you have been killed when 
he sees you standing alive before him ? ” 

“ But we never saw one another before, you must 
remember,” replied Eric. “All the letters and other 
documents proving my identity were in my “wallet, 
and that Mr. Tilbert has in his possession. He also 
has my trunk, and I am left with what you see me 
in and a few dollars in money that I happened to 
have in my pockets when that unlucky car tipped 
over.” 

“And you say that this boy you met in the car 
brought the news to your cousin ? ” 

It was the young girl who spoke. She had been 


62 


EEIC DANE. 


listening intently to Eric’s narrative, and was appar- 
ently absorbingly interested in the affair. 

‘‘ Yes,” replied our hero. “ The one who sat next 
to me and put my satchel up in the rack. Then it 
fell down and made the cat jump. Do you remem- 
ber him, and do you know who he was ? If I could 
find him, I might be able to prove something.” 

“Yes, I remember him,” answered the girl. “But 
I don’t know him. He told your cousin about your 
— about what he thought had happened to you that 
same night before he went home ? ” 

“ Yes, he was here in Cedarbrook at eight o’clock.” 

“ Then if you had come straight on here after the 
accident, instead of going home with me, this would 
not have happened,” went on the young girl, in an 
agitated voice. “ I have been the cause of all your 
misfortune. You must see that it is so, and ” 

“ Please do not distress yourself about it,” returned 
Eric, hastily. “ I am sure that it will all come right 
in a short time. Perhaps I may need your assistance 
in proving that I am myself and not somebody else,” 
he added, with a smile. 

By this time the three had reached the Bluff 
House, having followed the road, with which the 
Applebys seemed to be very familiar. They had 
come to Cedarbrook, it appeared, to call on some 
friends at the hotel. 

When they reached the piazza, and the young girl 
ran forward to greet a lady who had evidently been 
waiting for her, Eric took off his hat preparatory to 
excusing himself. 

“ One moment, Mr., or shall I say Eric, my young 
friend Eric,” began the old gentleman, plucldng him 
by the sleeve and motioning toward two vacant 
chairs in a retired corner of the porch. “I should 
like to make you a — well, a proposition, if you will 
grant me a short interview.” 


ERIC DANE. 


53 


“ Certainly,” and wondering what was coming next, 
Eric took a seat beside the father of the girl he had 
rescued. 

“Now you will pardon me, I am sure,” went on 
Mr. Appleby, who was evidently trying to find an easy 
way of asking an awkward question ; “ but am I to 
understand, that is, I suppose you are not so squarely 
seated in the lap of luxury as you will be when you 
get your rights ? ” 

“ I can frankly say that I am not. Indeed, as I am 
a stranger in the country, and as all my friends are 
at present out of reach, I shall ” 

“ Excellent, excellent,” excitedly broke in Mr. Ap- 
pleby ; then restraining himself, he added, apologet- 
ically : “ I mean I am sorry for it, but that makes it 

easy for me to offer you an engagement with our com- 
bination till such time as you can — can, in short, not 
only sit in luxury’s lap, but roll all about in it.” 

“ You are very kind, Mr. Appleby,” returned Eric. 
“I must work at something to support myself while 
I am proving my identity. I intended leaving here 
in the morning to seek a position of some sort in the 
city.” 

“ Then I will meet you on the train and you can 
come with us at once to the theater.” 

“ Why, what can I do in a theater ? ” exclaimed 
Eric, who had not quite taken in the full meaning of 
the word “ combination.” “ I might sell tickets or show 
the people to their seats, perhaps.” 

“ Oh, no, I do not want you for that, but to appear 
on the stage with my daughter in ‘ Fairfield Farm. ’ ” 

“ But I have never acted in my life,” objected Eric. 
“Indeed, I have only seen about half a dozen plays.” 

“ That doesn’t matter. You won’t have any bad 
habits to unlearn.” 

“ Then all my wardrobe is in Mr. Tilbert’s posses- 
sion, except the suit I have on.” 


54 


ERIC DANE. 


“ Medford’s can be made to fit you with very little 
altering, and I am sure you can look the part to per- 
fection. We will pay you the salary we would have 
given him, ten dollars a week.” 

“ But what would I have to do ? ” asked Eric, his 
breath almost taken away at the idea of his turning 
actor. 

“Oh, just walk about with a tennis racquet in your 
hand, make a few speeches to Louise, and then save 
her life, or rather a dummy’s, when the house catches 
fire.” 

“ Save a dummy’s life ! ” 

“I’ll explain. You see, I couldn’t think of exposing 
my dear child to any risk, so as she only has to scream 
for help when the fire breaks out, she can do that 
from the wings. Then we have a large figure dressed 
up to look like her, you run into the house, up the 
stairs, then pick this figure up and leap out of the 
window with it on to a hay mow. That’s what dis- 
abled poor Medford and made it possible for me to 
offer you this opening. At a dress rehearsal the 
other morning, he missed his aim and landed partly 
on the stage, breaking his leg.” 

“And I am expected to run the risk of doing the 
same thing for ten dollars a week,” reflected Eric. 
“But beggars mustn’t be choosers, and I ought to 
be glad to take up with anything that promises to 
put bread and butter in my mouth while I am prov- 
ing my right to be able to eat it.” 

“ Don’t you perceive the poetical appropriateness 
of yonr assuming the part?” Mr. Appleby went on 
to observe ; “ you, who so gallantly risked your life 
to deliver my daughter from the burning car, now 
to appear on the boards with her, and in a play that 
calls upon you to perform a similar service ! Why, 
it is an amazing stroke of luck that we can secure 


ERIC DANE. 


65 


Here the old gentleman came to a sudden pause. 
He had evidently just realized that, however advan- 
tageous the circumstances might appear in the eyes 
of a manager desirous of obtaining all the free ad- 
vertising possible for a new venture, it was not 
exactly policy to so forcibly impress upon the mind 
of a ten dollar member of the comj^any that he was 
possessed of such drawing powers. 

As for Eric, he would have been dull witted in- 
deed if he had not been able to perceive that Mr. 
Alonzo Appleby, in offering him the position of the 
unlucky Medford, was by no means the disinterested 
philanthropist he might desire to appear to be. 
However, just at this stage of bis fortunes, our hero 
could not well afford to be captious, so the bargain 
was closed. 

“I will meet you on the train that leaves here at 
8:17 in the morning,” said Mr. Appleby, who lost 
much of his pompous style of speaking whenever he 
talked business. I will look for you in the for- 
ward car.” 

“Well, what would Fred say to this fresh turn in 
my fortunes? ” mused Eric, as, weary alike in body 
and mind, he sought his room when the old gentle- 
man had left him. But he didn’t stay awake long to 
ponder the problem. Within a quarter of an hour 
he was sleeping a troubled sleep, beset by dreams 
of overturning cars, threatening tramps, and a 
troop of toads playing leapfrog in a theater. 


66 


EBIO BANE. 


CHAPTEK X. 

AN UNREHEAKSED SCENE. 

My readers liave doubtless at some time or other 
in their lives gone to bed at night fully resolved to 
pursue a certain line of action, and waked up next 
morning to wonder how they could ever have come 
to such a determination. 

This was the case with Eric. When the sunshine 
of another day flooded his room at the Bluff House 
and served to remind him of his promise to meet 
Mr. Alonzo Appleby on the 8:17 train, he was very 
much astonished on reviewing his own part in the 
matter. 

“ What was I thinking of ? ” he muttered, as he 
began to dress. “ I’ve no business to do anything 
but establish my claim to be alive, and put a stop 
to the rascally scheme of that precious cousin of 
mine.” 

At this point, however, his thoughts took a differ- 
ent turn, suggested by an inspection of his collar. 

“Um, well,” he proceeded to reflect, “unless I am 
fully sure of getting myself acknowledged within 
twenty four hours, I don’t know but what a ten dol- 
lar engagement will come in very handy in the way 
of providing me with some fresh linen and settling 
laundry bills.” 

Then, as he recollected the fact of his well stocked 
trunk being within half a mile of him at that very 
moment, he ground his teeth and inwardly vowed 



MR. APPLEBY’S INTERVIEW WITH THE MANAGER. 














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ERIC BANE. 


59 


to show no mercy to the thief who deprived him 
of it. 

“Ah, Mr. John Tilbert,” he murmured, “111 have 
a nice array of charges to bring against you when 
my turn comes ! ” 

On paying his bill after breakfast, Eric found him- 
self left with just three dollars and fifty five cents. 

“ And thirty of that must be spent for my ticket,” 
he said to himself, as he started off toward the 
station. 

Twenty minutes later he was seated beside Mr. 
Alonzo Appleby, who assured him that he was look- 
ing splendidly, and would be sure to gain favor with 
Mr. Banner. 

“ Who is Mr. Banner ? ” asked Eric. 

“ The manager of the ‘ Fairfield Farm ’ combina- 
tion,” was the reply. 

“ Why, I thought you were the manager ! ” ex- 
claimed Eric, in some surprise. 

“ So I am — of my daughter. It was under my 
direction that she achieved her reputation as a star 
last season. But I have great influence with Mr. 
Banner, and I am confident of my ability to make 
him see that you are much better suited to the char- 
acter of Clarence Terrington than is Dan Medford.” 

“ And who is Dan Medford ? ” 

“ Joe Medford’s brother. Dan stepped up, expect- 
ing to get Joe’s place when the poor fellow disabled 
himself the other day.” 

“ But I don’t want to have anybody put out of a 
situation on my account,” said Eric, beginning to 
feel uneasy at the prospect before him. 

“ Tut, tut, my boy, make your mind peaceable on 
that score,” responded Appleby. “Banner would 
only accept him for the want of something better. 
But here we are at the ferry.” 

On the boat, and during the ride up town to the 


60 


ERIC DANE. 


theater on the elevated railroad, Mr. Appleby ex- 
plained to our hero more particularly what would 
be required of him in the character of Clarence Ter- 
rington. 

It seemed that there were only a few lines to 
speak, and that the principal use of the part was to 
show the audien^ce that a dude had some good points 
about him, after all. At least this was the moral 
element ; but Eric comprehended plainly enough 
that the ‘‘leap for life ’’was the manager’s strong- 
point, and be began to fear that he was going to in- 
troduce himself into rather doubtful compan}". 

“ It’s a shame the way this old man makes that 
poor young girl support him,” he reflected, recall- 
ing what Mr. Appleby had said about “ managing ” 
his daughter. 

But by this time they had reached the stage door 
of the theater, and Eric became so much interested 
in his surroundings that all else was forgotten. 

What the exterior appearance of the theater itself 
was like he had no idea, as it fronted on the avenue, 
and the door opened on a side street, where bare 
footed children played in the gutters and shrill 
voiced hucksters were crying their wares. 

Leading the way through a long, narrow passage, 
with wire caged candles jutting from the brickwork 
here and there. Mr. Appleby presently brought up 
in a place which Eric concluded must be that en- 
chanted quarter known as “behind the scenes.” 

But where was the glare, the glitter, and the gen- 
eral fairy-like aspect supposed to predominate in 
this region ? Bare brick walls, dust covered pieces 
of canvas, rickety stairways, and a general sugges- 
tion of Shantytown was the impression made upon 
Eric by his surroundings. He would not have 
known Avhere he was had he not caught a glimpse 
through an opening in the scenes of the empty au- 


ERIC DANE. 


61 


ditorium, with its rows upon rows of seats draped 
in white linen, like so many ghosts come to see their 
brother play his role in “ Hamlet.'’ 

In the middle of the stage a tall gaspipe spring- 
ing from the footlights served to faintly light ujd 
the scene. Seated at a table, with writing materials 
before him, was a man in a plaid coat, with a high 
hat perched on a crop of the reddest hair Eric had 
ever belield. 

He was talking in a highly excited key to a young 
fellow of eighteen or thereabouts. 

“ That is Dan Medford,” whispered Mr. Appleby. 
“ I was in hopes we would get here ahead of him. 
He is trying to induce the manager to engage him 
in his brother’s place. You wait here while I whis- 
per to Mr. Banner that I have a better man for 
him.” 

Feeling somewhat uneasy at this summary fashion 
of obtaining the position, Eric sat down on a soap 
box, painted on one side to represent a footstool, 
and watched his patron advance towards the mana- 
ger, hat in hand, and with a series of very obsequi- 
ous bows. 

“Well, Mr. Appleby, good morning, sir,” he heard 
Mr. Banner interrupt himself to exclaim. 

Thus encouraged, Mr. Appleby made a sudden 
dart forward, and with a profusion of “ I beg your 
pardons ” to the luckless Medford, intimated that he 
would like to speak a few words privately to the 
manager. 

“Ah, yes,” ejaculated the latter, turning to the ap- 
plicant, “ be so good as to ‘ retire up ’ for a moment 
or two. I will speak with you later.” 

Thereupon Dan Medford forced a smile and 
backed away until he brought up rather suddenly 
against a projecting strip of forest scenery. Then, 
perceiving Eric, he walked toward him, and, taking 


62 


miG DANE. 


a seat on the other end of the soap box, murmured 
something about a pleasant day. 

“Yes, it is,” replied our hero, thinking it hard 
lines that he should be forced into conversation with 
a man he was destined to supplant. 

“I’m going to do my brother’s act, you know,” 
continued this frank individual, to Eric’s increased 
disquietude. “ At least, Mr. Banner has half prom- 
ised me the place. And don’t you think he ought 
to give it to me when Joe broke his leg trying to do 
his best for him ? ” 

“I should think you would have a good claim,” 
replied poor Eric, growing more and more uncom- 
fortable. “ But of course,” he added, “ I suppose it 
all depends on whether you would do — that is, 
whether you have had experience in acting or not.” 

“Well, I’ve been about a theater for six months. 
I was a scene shifter last year, and it oughtn’t to 
take much on top of that to make a scene jumper of 
me, ought it? ” And the fellow laughed at the joke 
he had made, then grew suddenly sober, as he caught 
the manager’s eye fastened upon him. 

He was an odd looking youth, so overgrown as to 
be gawky, and with a raspy voice that seemed to be- 
long to neither boy nor man. He had, moreover, 
an injured expression of countenance, that seemed 
to bespeak a mournful experience of life. 

Eric breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Banner 
called out “ Medford, now then ; ” but alas, his re- 
joicing was premature. 

No sooner had the manager exchanged a few 
words with him, than, pointing toward our hero, 
Medford cried out ; “ And you’ve given the place to 
that fellow ? ” 

“I didn’t say so, did I?” returned Mr. Banner. 
“I simply told you that I did not think you were 
competent to fill your brother’s role.” 


ERIC DANE. 


G3 


Mr. Appleby was observed to run bis finoers 
through his hair and look uncomfortable, while Eric 
began involuntarily to search the boards for a trap 
door. Meanwhile Medford proceeded to bemoan 
his fate till our hero could stand it no longer. 

Rising from the soap box, he addressed himself 
to Mr. Appleby. 

“I do not wish to take this young man’s place,” 
he said. “I can find something else to do till I 
settle matters in Cedarbrook.” 

“But I wish you to take it, and so does Mr. Ban- 
ner. We are sure you are just the person for us, 
and we cannot think of letting you off. Besides, it 
is very improbable that Mr. Banner would have en- 
gaged this Medford fellow in any case.” 

“Ah, it is true, then, you have got the place,” 
cried the ex scene shifter, suddenly coming up in 
front of the two and fairly shaking his fist in Eric’s 
face. 

Mr. Banner stepped forward to interfere, but the 
disappointed youth wheeled around like a whirlwind 
and cried out : 

“This is unjust, Mr. Banner, and you know it. 
You as much as promised me the place, and there is 
poor Joe lying on his back at home, and nobody to 
earn anything but me. But I will have my revenge, 
and you, young man” — with another glare at our 
hero — “ will be the one to help me to it.” 

So saying, the wrathful Dan left the stage in four 
dramatic strides, the last of which was somewhat 
marred by reason of his tripping over the soap box 
footstool. 


64 


EBIC DANE. 


CHAPTEE XI. 

THE FIRST REHEARSAL. 

“See that that low ruffian leaves the building, 
will you, Mr. Appleby ? ” said the manager, majesti- 
cally. 

“ But I would rather not accept the position un- 
der these circumstances,” interposed Eric. “Not 
that I am afraid of the ‘ revenge ’ that may be taken 
on me, but as long as these Medfords need the 
money so badly ” 

“ I will make that all right,” interrupted Mr. Ban- 
ner, with a lordly wave of his hand. “ Mr. Appleby 
informs me that you are at present unsettled, and 
I also happen to know that these Medfords take 
gentlemen to lodge with them. As you have mani- 
fested such an interest in the family, I am sure it 
would meet the wishes of all parties concerned for 
you to board there during your engagement with 
us. • I will get the address for you, and you can go 
down there at lunch time and bring the costume for 
your part back with you. Meantime I will turn you 
over to Mr. Cringleman, my stage manager, who 
will coach you in your role.” 

So saying, and without giving Eric an opportunity 
to express an opinion in regard to the summary 
manner in which he was being disposed of, Mr. Ban- 
ner nodded his head toward a short, smooth faced 
man, in his shirt sleeves, who had just made his ap- 
pearance, and walked off with Mr. Appleby. 


EKIO DANE. 


65 


“ Why should these people he so anxious to get 
me to act for them ? ” Eric asked himself wonder- 
ingly. 

He was destined to find out in the course of a 
very few hours. 

Meanwhile he was not allowed much time to 
bother his head as to whys and wherefores. Mr. 
Cringleman, who was a nervous, energetic indi- 
vidual, introduced himself with very little cere- 
mony. 

“ I suppose you’re to take Medford’s ifiace,” he 
began. “You’ve got to be lively about it so as to 
be up in your part by tonight.” 

“By tonight?” echoed our hero. “Wh}’’, when 
is the first performance of ” 

“ Tonight ; I just told you. If you keep on you 
can take the part of the dummy.” 

At this a group of sallow faced girls in gaudy 
straw hats and dowdy calico gowns, who had fol- 
lowed the stage manager in from the wings, giggled 
unrestrainedly, and Eric was seized with a strong 
desire to fling the roll of paper he had been given 
on the stage, and walk out of the building with his 
head in the air. 

But a recollection of the ridiculous figure Dan 
Medford had cut stumbling over the soap box in 
making his angry exit, checked the impulse. 

“I’d better make the best of things, now I’m in 
for them,” he resolved ; and then, in obedience to a 
suggestion from Mr. Cringleman that he should re- 
tire to some quiet spot to study his part, he walked 
to the edge of the stage, let himself down into the 
orchestra, and clambered over the railing into the 
deserted auditorium. Then, making his way to the 
lobby, he ascended the stairs to the balcony, where 
he settled himself in a seat just beneath a window, 
which would afford him air and light. 


66 


ERIC DANE. 


Appleby never told me I would be expected to 
appear in public tonight,” he said to himself, as he 
unrolled the parchment, which was written in a 
very legible hand, ajid comprised eight pages. 

Eric was blessed with a good memory and a gen- 
erous supply of common sense. The former enabled 
him to master his lines very rapidh^ while the latter 
enlightened him as to what was meant by the ap- 
parently meaningless group of three words that 
occurred more or less often on every page. 

He rightly decided that these must be his “cues,” 
i. e., the last words spoken by some one of the char- 
acters just before it was his turn to take part. 

Endeavoring to banish all thoughts of the Til- 
berts and Cedarbrook from his mind for the time 
being, Eric covered his ears with his hands to ex- 
clude the uproar of the rehearsal that was now in 
progress on the stage, and applied himself vigor- 
ously to his task. 

It was much easier than writing Latin verses, 
which latter had cost him many a headache at Eton, 
and in the course of a couple of hours he was able 
to repeat the whole eight pages without once refer- 
ring to the text. 

Returning to the stage, which was now filled with 
people, he announced to Mr. Cringleman that he was 
ready for the next step. 

“Lucky you are,” grunted that gentleman, “for 
here’s Miss Appleby, who mustn’t be kept waiting. 
Now then, pick up that hammer — the tennis rac- 
quet’s in the property room — and come sauntering 
in from the left wing. What can you whistle best ? ” 

“ ‘ Three Little Maids,’ from the ‘ Mikado,’ an- 
swered Eric, after a second’s hesitation. 

“That’ll do. AVhistle that as you come on. You 
might be tossing the racquet carelessly from hand 
to hand, too. Come across to the porch here, and 


ERIC DANE. 


67 


tlieu take off your hat to Miss Appleby, who will be 
sitting there. Then you’ll get your cue from her. 
Now let’s see what you’ll make of it.” 

Eric was strongly of the opinion that he was go- 
ing to make a fool of himself. Indeed, so ridicu- 
lous did the whole thing seem to him that he was 
obliged to exert all his will power to restrain a ten- 
dency to laugh, which would of course be fatal to 
the success of the whistle, to say nothing of his 
forthcoming debut. 

“I’ll just think what a mean rascal my cousin 
John Tilbert is,” he said to himself. “That ought 
to keep me sober enough.” 

And it did, so much so that when he emerged 
from the wings, Mr. Cringleman called out sharply : 
“Look happy, not as if you were walking in pro- 
cession at your own funeral.” 

This was discouraging, to say the least, and the 
“Three Little Maids” was very near coming to 
grief. But just then Louise Appleby encouraged 
him by a look, and Eric proceeded with his embar- 
rassing task, for a goodly number of the out of 
school maidens in straw hats and calico frocks were 
congregated at one side of the stage watching his 
performance with the closest attention. 

He had got half way to the porch of the farm- 
house when his equanimity was again disturbed by 
a sharp command from Mr. Cringleman. 

“Too much jerk to your walk. Go back and start 
over again, and don’t stiffen your knees as if you 
were bracing yourself against an earthquake.” 

A chorus of titters came from the girls, but they 
were at once hushed into silence by a fierce “ Sish ” 
from the stage manager, who folded his arms and 
leaned back against the proscenium in a critical at- 
titude, while Eric started on a repetition of his 
grand entree. 


ERIC DANE. 


“ I believe it would be ten times easier to do tlie 
part of a kniglit, or a brigand, or some other chap 
of the last century,” he said to himself. “As soon 
as a fellow gets on the stage he seems to want to be 
what he isn’t.” 

However, by concentrating his thoughts on Percy 
Tilbevt, and imagining that he was on his way to 
fulfill an appointment to play tennis with that en- 
gaging youngster, Eric contrived to cross the stage 
and reach the porch of the canvas farmhouse in 
passably natural fashion. 

Miss Appleby gave him the expected cue, and he 
got through with his answers with comparative suc- 
cess. He had only to be reminded twice by the 
watchful stage manager to “Speak louder, so the 
back seats can hear you.” 

His exit at the close of the short scene being 
“ through farmhouse door,” with the closing words 
of his last speech he pushed open the latter, and 
stepped — off into space. 

It seemed that, as it was only a rehearsal, the 
slope had not been backed against the scene, so 
that Eric ended his first appearance on any stage 
with rather an inglorious tumble. 

But it was only a distance of three feet, and, 
quickly picking himself up, he hurried around to 
the front, to receive censure or congratulations, as 
the case might be. 


EEIC DANE. 


69 


CHAPTEB XII. 

AT THE MEDFORDS’. 

“You did pretty well for a first try,” was Mr. 
Cringleman’s rather noncommittal comment, when 
Eric emerged from the wings, dusting his trousers 
with his handkerchief. “But what did you want to 
walk out of that door for ? I called to you, but it 
was too late.” 

“ Good morning, Mr. Dane,” said Miss Appleby, 
who now came up, extending her hand. “ Allow me 
to congratulate you on your success.” 

“What, as a tumbler?” laughed our hero. Then 
he added : “But that ought to put me in trim for 
my famous leap to the haymow. By the way, when 
am I to go over that ? ” 

“This afternoon, at three o’clock,” replied Mr. 
Cringleman. “By that time they’ll have the dummy 
ready, and everything fixed for you. Now we take 
a recess for lunch.” 

This reminded Eric of the Medfords. 

“If I don’t like the place, I won’t stay — that’s all 
about it,” he said to himself. “I’ll make it up to 
them in some way when I come into my rights.” 

AVhile he stood chatting with Miss Louise about 
the play, her father appeared and handed him a slip 
of paper, on which was written the Medfords’ ad- 
dress, together with an order from Mr. Banner for 
Joe Medford to deliver to bearer the costume for 
Clarence Terrington. 


70 


ERIC DANE. 


“ You had better go down there right away,” ad- 
vised Mr. Appleby, “ if you want to be in time for 
dinner.” 

“ How far is it, and which is the quickest way to 
get there ? ” inquired Eric. 

Mr. Appleby gave him the necessary directions, 
and in the course of twenty minutes Eric found 
himself in front of the Medford residence. 

The house was a two story one, built of wood, 
and standing back from the street at a distance of 
almost a quarter of a block. It was approached by 
a garden, now overrun with vines and weeds. 

The tall brick buildings hemmed it in on either 
side, while across the front the cars of the elevated 
railroad rushed and roared all day and night. 

The house itself was evidently a relic of New 
York’s early days, when perhaps it had been the 
country seat of some Knickerbocker nabob. But 
whatever splendor it had once possessed was now 
departed. Decay was everywhere visible, and, as 
Eric ascended the steps to the front door, his foot 
caught in a hole, and he came near repeating the 
undignified tumble of the rehearsal. 

“It’s a wonder to me,” he muttered, “that Joe 
Medford didn’t break his leg here two or three times 
over before he ever heard of the haymow feat.” 

His knock on the weather beaten door was an- 
swered by an old lady who had evidently been 
standing over the stove, for her face was as red as 
fire, and in one hand she held a saucepan of boiled 
potatoes. 

“Land o’ Goshen!” she exclaimed, almost drop- 
ping the saucepan in her surprise. “ I thought it 
was Sister Trix. But come right in. I’ll show you 
your room soon’s as I set these praties down.” 

“Why, they must have been expecting me,” 
thought Eric. “ Perhaps Mr. Banner sent word 


ERIC DANE. 


71 


that I was coming. They don’t seem to bear any ill 
will on account of my taking Dan’s place. S’pose I 
might as well make up my mind to stay for a few 
days, any way. The place seems clean enough, if it 
is on the high road to rotting away.” 

But now the brisk old lady was back again, and 
beckoning him to follow her up the uncarpeted 
stairs. At the top they passed a room through the 
half open door of which Eric caught a glimpse of a 
man lying in bed. 

“ That’s poor Joe, I suppose,” he told himself. 

“But where are your things?” exclaimed the old 
lady the next minute, as slie flung open the shutters 
of a good sized apartment with two windows, afford- 
ing a view of the weeds and vines already men- 
tioned ; also a lengthy patent medicine advertise- 
ment on the brick wall of the adjoining building. 

“ My things ? ” exclaimed Eric, as though he did 
not comprehend. Then, thinking it needless to go 
into details at present, he simply said they were all 
right, and asked in his turn what the price of the 
room was. 

“ Five dollars a week,” was the replj^ and then the 
old lady, announcing that he could come down to 
dinner right away, hurried off to dish it up. 

“ I should think that was cheap enough,” mused 
Eric, when he was left alone. “I’ll have half my 
salary left to replenish my wardrobe. But I’m go- 
ing to Start in slow on that, because before I need 
another suit of clothes I hope I’ll have got the better 
of that Tilbert rascal.” 

Having washed his face and hands and brushed 
his hair, he descended the stairs and w^as guided to 
the dining room by a strong odor of corned beef and 
cabbage which issued therefrom. 

“ Set right down, Mr. ,” and a second old lady, 

who looked enough like the first one to be her twin 


72 


ERIC DANE. 


gister — which indeed she was — j^aused as she pulled 
out the chair nearest the door. 

“My name is Dane,” said Eric, coming to her res- 
cue. 

“Dane, oh yes, I’ll try to remember it, but I’m a 
dreadful poor hand at names, any way. Seems to 
me as though I’d heard that name somewhere else. 
Sister Phoebe, the young man’s name is Dane. What 
have I heard about somebody of that name just 
lately ? ” 

The old lady who had admitted Eric, and who now 
entered the room from the kitchen bearing a great 
dish of corn, assumed a grave look as she took her 
seat. Proceeding to cut the beef, she replied : 
“ Why, it was what I was readin’ to you in the i^aper 
this mornin’ ’bout that dreadful railroad accident 
night afore last. Don’t you remember Dane was the 
name of the young man that had come clear from 
England to get a big fortune that had been left him, 
and how he was almost at his new home wlien he was 
killed, bein’ in that last car that was all burned to 
ashes ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, I remember now ! ” exclaimed the second 
old lady, adding : “His first name was Eric, too, 
same as Martha Lib’s little boy that she lost with the 
croup last winter. To be sure, to be sure.” 

As may be imagined, Eric was anything but com- 
fortable during this conversation, Avhich was not only 
unpleasantly suggestive, but served to convince him 
that his cousin John was leaving no stone unturned 
to settle in the mind of the public the fact that Eric 
Dane was no longer living. 

He was buried in these gloomy reflections when he 
suddenly became conscious that the first old lady 
was speaking to him. 

“I beg pardon. What did you say? ” he asked. 

“I was s-ayin’ I couldn’t see how you ever got your 


ERIC DANE. 


73 

courage up to let go an^l drop when the time 
came.” 

Eric stared. “ Drop when the time came ? ” What 
could the woman mean ? 

“ I don’t quite understand you,” he said. Then 
suddenly recalling the haymow act and thinking 
that might be referred to, he added hastily : “Oh, 
it doesn’t take much courage to do that ; you are 
sure of landing in a soft place.” 

“Do tell. But then it must make you dizzy to be 
up so high. Thousands of feet, only think. Sister 
Trix, with only an umbrella to hold on to.” 

Thousands of feet? Only an umbrella? Were 
these good ladies a couple of harmless lunatics, or 
had Eric blundered into the wrong house ? Still he 
seemed to have been expected. 

The second old lady’s next remark did not tend to 
make his mind feel any easier. 

“ I wonder why Dan don’t come to his dinner. Otf 
scouring the town to get a lot of his friends to help 
him hiss down that poor young fellow tonight, I 
s’pose. I tried to persuade him out of it, but he was 
that wild there was no holdin’ him in. But here he 
comes now. Who’s that he’s got with him, though ?” 


7i 


EEIO DANE. 


CHAPTER Xm. 

A EECOGNITION AND A DILEMMA. 

“Here’s a pretty state of things,” thought Eric, as 
old lady Number One bustled out to open the door 
for the yellow haired young man who had vowed 
wengeance on him at the theater. 

“There’s a mistake somewhere, for these old ladies 
can’t know who I really am, or they wouldn’t talk as 
they do.” 

But now his attention was attracted by high 
voices in the hallway. 

“ Come, do you say ? ” he heard Dan Medford ex- 
claim. “Why here he is with me now. Mr. Boltboy, 
this is my Aunt Phoebe.” 

“But who is that young man in at the dinner 
table now ? ” the old lady wanted to know in a tone 
of anxiety. 

Dan Medford glanced in at the doorway and then 
burst out with ; “ Great Scott, aunt, that is the fellow 
who took my place away from me and who ” 

Dan made a rush forward, but both the old ladies 
flung themselves in front of him, crying out : “No, 
no, Daniel ; not here, not here ! Don’t fight in the 
house.” 

“Let me go, let me go,” shouted Dan, struggling 
to free himself, “ I’m not going to fight. I only want 
to ask him what he’s doing here.” 

“I’m boarding,” replied Eric, rising in his place 


EKIC DANE. 15 

\ 

with as much dignity as he could call up under the 
circumstances. 

“Boarding ? ” repeated Dan, and he was evidently 
so amazed that for the moment he forgot that he was 
in a passion. 

Eric took advantage of the lull and briefly ex- 
plained matters. 

“ I don’t expect to keep the place at the theater 
more than a week or two,” he added. “ So i^erhaps 
when I leave I can induce Mr. Banner to let you have 
it.” 

“Uinph, no, thanks,” muttered Dan, “I wouldn’t 
take it now, any way. My friend Boltboy has made 
me his assistant.” 

But here old lady Number Two broke in with : 
“Oh, Daniel, we’ve given his room to this gentleman. 
I thought he was the parasol man ! ” 

“ Parachute, aunt, ” interrupted Dan, adding, in a 
whisper : “Why can’t we keep ’em both? Ill see if 
fioltboy objects.” 

Boltboy didn’t, in consideration of a dollar being 
taken off the price, whereupon the old ladies under- 
took to effect the same bargain with Eric. 

But the latter was not so easil^^ won over. He had 
no idea of sharing his room with a man about Avhom 
he knew absolutely nothing, and frankly said so. 

“ But we took you to be him, so I don’t see how 
you can object,” said old ladj^ Number One ingen- 
uously. 

“ Besides, it will be cheaper for you,” added her 
sister. 

“ And he’ s a very famous person,” went on the 
other. 

“ Goes up in a balloon and drops thousands of feet 
with only an umbrella to hold on by.” 

“ No, sister, not an unbrella a parasol.” 

“ Ladies you are both Avrong,” interposed Mr. Bolt- 


76 


ERIC DANE. 


boy bimself, who with Dan entered the room at that 
moment. “ I descend with the help of a parachute. 
My next exhibition will be given on Friday afternoon 
at Swingman Beach. Infringers of patents to be 
prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Where am 
I to sit ? ” 

He added this last with such a funny change of 
voice that Eric was amused in spite of himself. Now 
that he had an opportunity of viewing his proposed 
room mate, he discovered him to be a short, thick 
set young fellow of twenty live, or thereabouts. He 
had very light blue eyes, extremely black hair, a 
dainty mustache, and the rosiest complexion our hero 
had ever seen on a man. 

“I suppose I might as well stay,” Eric reflected. 
“It’ll only be for a week or two at the most, and I’ll 
need every cent I can save to proceed against that 
precious cousin of mine.” 

It was now past two o’clock, and he was obliged to 
hurry through the remainder of the meal in order to 
be back at the theater in time for the final dress re- 
hearsal. 

Dan, who became quite friendly after a while, se- 
cured the clothes for him, and graciously promised 
to give up the idea of taking his revenge. 

Once out of the house with his bundle, Eric mut- 
tered between his teeth ■ “ And this is what I have 

come three thousand miles for ! To be turned off my 
own property like a dog by my cousin ; made a com- 
panion of by a tramp, and have to swallow patronage 
from a fellow like Dan Medford ! ” 

But if our hero was a boy of high spirit, he was 
also possessed of strong repressing faculties, and an 
hour later he was putting all his energies into his 
work at the theater. 

And hard work it was. Over and over again he 
was compelled to go through his part, jump and all. 


ERIC DANE. 


77 


until he felt that he could do all that was required of 
him with his eyes shut. 

It was exciting, to he sure, to walk into a building 
from which perfectly harmless flames were shooting 
forth in appalling fury, pick up the dummy, stand 
with it for an instant in a dramatic attitude in a win- 
dow and then, with a ringing cry, spring out into 
the air. 

Of course the jump would be made to a quick 
curtain — that is, the close of an act, and only a small 
portion of the haymow would be visible to the audi- 
ence, so that the effect of the leap would be thrilling 
in the extreme. 

“You’re sure to get a call before the curtain, both 
of you,” said Mr. Banner, “ so that you. Sterling ” 
(Eric’s stage name), “ must pick yourself up in short 
order and be ready to lead Miss Appleby out in 
front.” 

It was six o’clock and after when the rehearsal w^as 
over, so that Eric had barely time to get his sujDper 
and don his costume before the performance began. 
However, as he did not appear until the second act, 
it was not absolutely necessary for him to be ready 
to respond to his call until nine o’clock. But he re- 
solved to be as far ahead of time as possible, so as to 
give himself an opportunity to recover from a possi- 
ble fit of stage fright. 

Therefore, on returning to the Medfords’ he ate his 
supper at a rapid rate, calculated to add dyspepsia 
to his other trials, and discouraging as politely as he 
could all explanations and apologies from the two 
old ladies, he clapped on his hat again and was on 
his way back to the theater before it began to grow 
dark. 

He was greatly excited, and, strange to say, forgot 
all about Cedarbrook and his interests there, and the 
manner in which he intended to set about further- 


78 


EKIC DANE. 


ing them on the morrow, when he would have the 
entire day to himself. His whole mind was concen- 
trated on the problem of how he would feel when he 
should emerge from among the canvas trees forming 
the left wing, and in liis white trousers, flaming red 
and yellow blazer, with cap to match, saunter out to 
be the cynosure of thousands of eyes, to say nothing 
of opera glasses. 

Suddenly a newsboy rushed by with the cry, 
“ Mail and Express, Commercial, Evenin' Sun ! ” 

“Let’s see what new evidence of my death Tilbert 
has discovered,” said Eric to himself. 

He bought a paper, and hurriedly ran his eye down 
the news columns. There was very little concerning 
the accident, and nothing at all relating to himself. 

He was about to fold the paper up and put it into 
his pocket, to be read when he had more time, when 
he caught sight of a paragraph headed : 

Intekesttng item in connection with the pboduction of 
“Faikfield Farm.” 

A romantic interest attaches to the appearance of the younff 
man who has been engraged under the stage name of Frank 
Sterling, to play the part of Clarence Terrington. He rescues 
the blind heroine from a burning building under the most ex- 
citing conditions, and it now transpires that he is the very same 
person who assisted Miss Appleby (who fills the role of this 
heroine) out of the burning car in which they were both passen- 
gers on the occasion of the terrible accident on the Mid Jersey 
Kailroad, night before last. The management are certainly to 
be congratulated on securing the services of one who has had 
practical experience in the art of rescuing maidens from peril- 
ous situations, and Mr. Sterling’ s debut will be watched with 
interest. 

“ Well, I didn’t think I was going to be made such 
a sensation of as all this,” muttered Eric. “I see 
now why they were so ready to engage me. It’s all 
an advertising scheme, and Is’pose I’ll have more 
opera glasses to face than anybody else in the place.” 

This was not exactly an encouraging reflection to 
one who was already beginning to grow rather ner- 
vous, but when Eric found himself in the dressing 


ERIC DANE. 


7 ^! 

room, amid all the excitement and bustle that pre- 
vailed there, and heard the lively overture played by 
the orchestra, he became filled with a wild sort of 
enthusiasm that quite banished all sense of fear. 

The play began, and, dressed ready for his en- 
trance on the stage near the end of the second act, 
Eric watched its progress from the wings. 

The curtain fell, the band played again, once more 
the action of the piece went on until finally our hero 
caught his cue. Nerving himself as if for battle, he 
walked forth, gayly whistling his “Mikado” air, gave 
one glance at the rows upon rows of spectators, and 
then every word of his part went out of his head. 
For in that one glance he had caught sight of the 
boy whose name began with McQuirl. 


80 


ERIC DANE. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A SLIP ’tWIXT cup and LIP. 

Eric’s sensations, when he realized that he was as 
ignorant of the opening lines of his part as though 
he had never learned them, can be better imagined 
than described. Indeed, the anxiety engendered by 
this unlucky lapse of memory quite dwarfed, for the 
moment, the important possibilities presented to his 
mind by that glimpse of the fellow he had been so 
anxious to interview. 

“He’s sure to stay here for an hour longer at 
least,” Eric told himself, “ so why should I lose my 
head over the recognition ? ” 

Meanwhile he paused neither in his saunter nor 
his whistle, and was by this time wdthin a few feet 
of the farmhouse porch. 

“ If I had only forgotten the cue I am to get from 
Miss Appleby,” he reflected, “I could hope that 
when I heard it I’d remember what my answ^er was.” 

All this of course passed through his mind in less 
than a minute, and at the end of that period he 
found himself doffing his cap to Miss Appleby, and 
listening to the cue she was giving him, without the 
ghost of an idea of what he was to say in reply. 

He stood there, cap in hand, his back half turned 
to the audience, while the cold perspiration broke 
out on his forehead, and a trembling began to seize 
upon his limbs. Already in anticipation he could 
hear the awful silence that would follow^ the close of 


ERIC DANE. 


81 


the heroine’s speech, and in imagination could see 
the wonder, and pity, too, perchance, depicted upon 
the faces of that vast assemblage. 

Should he make a dash for the exit now, he asked 
himself, or stand there mute and motionless until 
the curtain was rung down on his disgrace ? 

But now Miss Louise ceased speaking, and — but 
what was this ? Yes, Eric was actually replying, 
uttering the words of that part which a second be- 
fore he had forgotten as completely as though it 
had never existed. 

In five minutes it was all over, and he was behind 
the scenes, receiving the congratulations of Mr. 
Appleby, who patted him on the shoulder, and as- 
sured him that he couldn’t have done it better. 

“But I didn’t think I was going to do it at all,” 
Eric responded modestly. “ I can’t understand now 
how I got through, unless it was by a kind of me- 
chanical memory of what came next ; ” and then he 
explained how he had seen in the audience the one 
person who could furnish him with the proof that 
was needed to put him into possession of his rights, 
and the consequences that had resulted from the 
circumstance. 

“ I must have a talk with him before he leaves the 
theater,” he added. “Now, how shall I manage it? 
I can’t go in front in this rig, and I’ve got to be on 
the stage so much from now on that I won’t have 
time to change it. And if I let slip this chance of 
finding out where I can lay my finger on that chap 
when I want him, I — well, I deserve to lose my for- 
tune, that’s all.” 

“We’ll send somebody out to see the young man 
for you and get him to come behind,” said Mr. Ap- 
pleby ; “ or I’ll go myself if j'ou point him out to 
me.” 

“ How can I ? ” objected Eric. “ We can’t go on 


82 


EBIC DANE. 


the stage, and we can’t see him from the wings, can 
we, without being seen ourselves?” 

“ The act will be over presently, and then you can 
come and point him out through the hole in the cur- 
tain.” 

With this Eric was forced to be content, although 
he was so impatient that he could not sit or stand 
still, but kept pacing back and forth with a look of 
anxious suspense on his young face that seemed 
widely out of keeping with his dress. 

At last the curtain fell, and before the stage was 
cleared of those who had taken part in the final 
scene, Eric rushed out and applied his eye to the 
peep hole. 

Yes, there sat the object of his search, attired in 
a black frock coat, with his hair plastered down over 
his ears, and a collar that evidently held his head as 
in a vise. 

He seemed to be alone, as he was engaged in read- 
ing his programme. 

“ There he is, in the fifth row on the right, Mr. 
Appleby,” cried Eric, excitedly, as his patron in the 
theatrical world took his turn at peeping. “ The 
one with the terribly high collar on and his hair 
brushed very slick. Do you see him?” 

“ Oh, yes, most undoubtedly,” was the prompt re- 
ply. “I’ll go out and bring him around myself. 
Shall I give him your name?” 

“Perhaps you’d better not,” laughed Eric. “He 
might think it was a ghost, and decline to come.” 

?“He may have recognized you already.” 

“I guess not, or he wouldn’t be sitting there so 
calmly. Just tell him that somebody would like to 
speak to him for a moment behind the scenes.” 

“I’ll wager there won’t be any trouble getting 
him to come,” quoth Mr. Appleby, as he marched off 
on his errand. 


ERIC DANE. 


83 


Eric would gladly have remained at the peep hole 
to watch the execution of it, but the scene shifters 
now required full possession of the stage to make 
the changes for the next act, and he adjourned to 
the wings and watched the putting together of the 
canvas building from which he w^as to make his sen- 
sational leap into the haymow. 

“ There won’t be much glitter in stage life left for 
me after my experience here,” he reflected, as his 
eye took in the cob webbed corners, the dangling 
ropes, and the general “wrong side out” effect 
which all the surroundings bore stamped upon 
them. 

“The audience get all the fun there is in it,” he 
decided, with a vivid recollection of the wearisome 
grind he had been put through at the rehearsals. 

To his impatient expectancy, it seemed as if Mr. 
Appleby never would come back ; but at length, 
just after the curtain rose on the third act, he a23- 
peared — wdth the wu'ong boy ! 

But before Eric could explain the fact, the call 
boy ran up to remind him that he w^as needed on the 
stage, and he w^as obliged to hurry off. 

“How stupid in Mr. Appleby,” he complained to 
himself. “ I told him what he looked like, but, after 
all, perhaps he isn’t so much to blame, for this fel- 
low has a high collar and slicked hair, onl}' it’s light. 
And I don’t believe I thought to tell him the color, 
any w^ay. Well, all I can do is to wait till I go off 
again.” 

But as his presence was required in groupings for 
almost the entire act, his patience was put to an- 
other severe test. 

“ Wliat if that chap should take it into his head 
to go out, or change his seat ? ” he said to himself. 
“It may be days before 1 can get on his track again.” 

Eric’s transformation into a lawn tennis dude had 


81 


ERIC DANE. 


not been accomplished without the use of paint, 
cosmetics, and the adjustment of a dainty false mus- 
tache, so there was not much hope of his being rec- 
ognized by his late traveling companion, especially 
as the latter believed him dead. 

He was thinking rather soberly on the exasperat- 
ing fashion in which fortune was treating him, and 
idly toying with his racquet as he sat with the gay 
company looking on at a juggling entertainment 
given by the guests of “ Fairfield Farm,” when a 
shrill scream just behind him brought him back to 
present duties and dangers with a rush. 

For the scream came from a girl in the company, 
and its dread burden was “ Smoke.” An instant 
later and the awful cry of “ Fire ” rang through the 
theater. 

Instantly Mr. Banner was before the footlights, 
seeking to prevent a panic. His sharp tones and 
calm presence, coupled with the fact that as yet not 
a particle of flame was visible, tended to allay the 
alarm in a good degree. Still the audience could 
not be induced to remain. 

The fire proceeded from the haystack, which had 
been placed in a position ready for Eric’s leap. A 
rope among the flies had swung into a gas jet, and 
the burning portion had dropped to the hay just be- 
low 

The firemen w^ho are always about a theater 
promptly extinguished the flames, but that one 
scream had settled the business of keeping the mat- 
ter from the audience. The performance was per- 
force brought to a termination for lack of specta- 
tors, among the first to rush out being ihe boy 
whose name was McQuirl. 


ERIC DANE. 


85 


CHAPTER XV. 

A MYSTERIOUS LOSS. 

“ Great C^sar, this is a pretty way to treat a fel- 
low ! Engage him for a week, and then set him 
adrift without a day’s notice and with only a day’s 
salary, and that not for any fault of his. Why, 
that Banner is a — well, he’s keeiiing a sharji lookout 
for Number One, and I suppose 111 have to make 
the best of it. But I’ve had a lesson, any way, I 
ought to remember.” 

Such were our hero’s reflections when he had read 
a note passed in to him under the door at the Med- 
fords’, the next morning, before he was dressed. 

It was from Mr. Banner, and read as follows : 

Square Theater, Tbursday, miduificht. 

We have been notified to discontinue the use of the haj-mow 
act in our production of “Fairfield Farm,” owin^? to the dan- 
#?-er from fire. Hence it has been decided to cut out the char- 
acter of Clarence Terrington ; so your services will no longer 
be required. I enclose two dollars in payment of duties already 
performed. Yours truly, Wlnthrop Banner. 

Taking the bill from the envelope, Eric placed it 
on the bureau, and then proceeded to add to it the 
money from his various pockets, making the follow- 
ing mental commentary at the conclusion of the 
ceremony : 

“Grand total, $5.15 ; owing to the Medfords for a 
week’s board (if I stay) $4 ; amount left for pur- 
chasing fresh stock of collars, cuffs, and undercloth- 
ing, $1.15 ; present source of income, nix ; prospec- 


86 


EKIC DANE. 


tive fortune, something over a million ; and now 
the question is, how am I to bridge over the gap 
between expectation and realization ? ” 

He sat down to study the problem, but the longer 
he thought about it, the deeper grew the conviction 
that all his energies ought to be concentrated on 
obtaining an interview with that fellow he had seen 
in the theater the previous evening. The exasper- 
ating fashion in which he had lost the opportunity 
afforded him still rankled in his mind. 

In the confusion following the fire he had had no 
opportunity to obtain a report from Mr. Appleby ; 
indeed, had not seen him. Besides, as he had sin- 
gled out the wrong person, it was not to be sup- 
posed that he would be able to provide our hero 
with any information that would be of use to him. 

“ I’ll go back to Cedarbrook, in spite of Mr. Til- 
bert’s edict of banishment,” Eric resolved. “I 
ought never to have left it. Perhaps if I hadn’t I’d 
be having a good natured cousinly pillow fight with 
Percy and his brother at this very moment.” 

“ How did the play go last night ? ” 

Eric started at the question. He had quite for- 
gotten that he had a room mate. Coming home late 
from the theater, utterly worn out, he had gone to 
bed almost without noticing the young man who 
occupied the inside edge of it, and the receipt of 
the note from Mr. Banner had served to banish the 
recollection of his presence on this occasion. 

“ Oh, good morning, Mr. Boltboy,” said Eric, 
quickly snatching up his money in a roll and stuf- 
fing it all into one pocket. “ The play didn’t go at 
all — it stopped,” he added, and then went on to ex- 
plain the nature of the interruption. 

“ You should be in my profession,” responded the 
parachute dropper, sitting up in bed to gesticulate 
as he talked. “There ^-re no four walls to hamper 


EEIC BANE. 


87 


one witli taking precautions lest they burn down. 
No ; the circumambient atmosphere is my stage, and 
the boundless expanse of country my auditoriuni.” 

“ But how do you make it pay ? ” asked Eric. 
“ You can’t charge an admittance where there is no 
place to admit people to.” 

“True, and hence I am not dependent on gate 
money for my support ; for, although I live, so to 
speak, by air, I do not live on it. My frugal meals 
are supplied by a certain stipulated sum paid me 
by the railroad and steamboat companies that carry 
people to the points where I exhibit.” 

“ That assures you a regular income in a verj" nice 
manner, then,” said Eric. 

“But the companies are so grasping, I don’t mind 
confessing to you, that the percentage they allow 
me is but a miserable pittance, and they make it 
smaller with every exhibition.” 

“Why, how does that happen? I should think 
that as your fame spread you would be worth more.” 

“ Ah, that is the sensible way to look at it. It is, 
in fact, the way I look at it myself. But how do 
these magnates of the transportation lines argue? 
This way: The people throng to see you take your 
thousand feet leap with the half defined expecta- 
tion that you will kill yourself in making it. You 
do not sustain so much as a scratch, and what is the 
result? The crowd is disappointed of a hoped for 
sensation, and there are fewer to witness your next 
attempt. ‘Hurt yourself, faint on the w^ay down, or 
contrive to land in some perilous position,’ say these 
unreasonable men, ‘and your star of fortune will 
begin to ascend again.’ Did you ever h^ar of a 
baser libel on the American public than that ? ” 

Eric admitted that it presupposed a widespread 
love of the horrible, wdiich it was to be hoped did 
not really exist. 


88 


EEIC DANE. 


“But young Medford and I,” proceeded Mr. Bolt- 
boy, lowering liis voice to the key in which impor- 
tant communications are made, “ have formed a 
plan which we hope will give me my just dues.” 

“ And what is that ? ” inquired Eric, who was be- 
coming quite interested in this young man who 
talked like an old one. 

“ AVhy, we have procured a small tent which will 
be erected near the spot where I propose to alight, 
and into which I shall betake myself with all possi- 
ble speed as soon as my feet touch the ground. 
Medford will then take his place at the door, and 
charge five cents' to every person who wishes to 
enter and have a close view of the man who has 
dropped a thousand feet from the clouds. I will be 
rigged out in my costume, you know, and will be 
ready to show just how the parachute works, so we 
will give the people the worth of their nickel, don’t 
you think so? ” 

Eric was spared the awkwardness of expressing 
his inward convictions on the subject by a rap at 
the door, which he hastened to answer. 

It proved to be a summons from one of the old 
ladies to breakfast, at which meal our hero an- 
nounced his intention of leaving New York that 
morning. 

The old ladies — whom he now discovered to be 
the two maiden aunts of the Medford boys — ex- 
pressed their regret at such an early departure, and 
fixed the price he was to pay for the night’s lodging 
and three meals at seventy five cents. 

Eric had risen from the table, and now put his 
hand in his coat pocket for his money. 

There was nothing there. He tried another with 
the same result. 

“Well, I know I’m not quite bankrupt,” he re- 
marked, with a laugh, “for only five minutes before 


ERIC DANE. 


89 


I came down I was counting how much I had up in 
my room.” 

“ What did you do with it when you had finished?” 
asked Miss Phoebe. 

“Put it in my inside coat pocket, but it isn’t 
there now, nor in any of the others ; ” and a blank 
look spread itself over our hero’s face as he finished 
exploring his clothes. 

“ Perhaps you dropped it on the floor,” suggested 
Miss Trix. 

“You had better go up and look,” added her sis- 
ter, and Eric was not slow to act upon the advice. 

He found Mr. Boltboy adjusting his cravat with 
great pains before the looking glass. 

“I’ve lost some money,” began Eric, when the 
other interrupted him with : “ Not in this room. Do 
not say that you left it here and that now it is gone.” 

“But I hope it isn’t gone,” went on Eric, too wor- 
ried to wonder at the man’s strange manner. 

He fell on his hands and knees, and began care- 
fully going over every foot of the carpet. 

“I may be poor, but I am honest,” went on Mr. 
Boltboy, adding in deep and solemn tones : “Will 
you permit me to help you in your search, or do 
you fear that I may pocket ” 

“ Mr. Boltboy,” Eric looked up to reply with em- 
phasis, “ once for all I don’t believe you stole my 
money, for the very good reason that I don’t see 
how you could. I counted it myself this morning 
before I went down to breakfast, and then I remem- 
ber distinctly putting it in my pocket. But it isn’t 
there now, nor anywhere else that I can make out. 
It seems as if magic had a hand in it.” 

It certainly did, for not a trace of bills or silver 
was found in the room, outside of Mr. Boltboy ’s 
pocket book, which the over sensitive parachute 
man insisted should be examined. 


90 


EEIC DANE. 


It contained two fives, one fifty cent piece and 
two quarters, and when Eric stated that he had had 
only ones, a two, a dime and a nickel, Mr. Boltboy 
straightened himself up with the air of a vindicated 
man, put on his coat and went down to breakfast. 

Eric remained in the room, put his head between 
his hands, and tried to think of a solution to the 
mystery. 


ERIC DANE. 


91 


CHAPTEE XVI. 

ERIC TURNS TRAMP. 

“ Well, I’ve got to paddle my own canoe now, and 
in pretty rough waters, too. The money’s gone, no 
matter how or when, and I’ve got to get along with- 
out it the best way I can.” 

This was the conclusion Eric arrived at after five 
minutes’ hard thinking. Then getting uj:), he 
squared his shoulders, took off his watch and chain 
and went down stairs to settle matters with the old 
ladies. 

“I’ll leave my watch here as securit}^” he said, 
when he had beckoned Miss Phoebe out of the din- 
ing room. “ I hope to either send you the seventy 
five cents or bring it myself in a day or two, or per- 
haps by that time you may have found my money 
somewhere about the house. Good by. I am go- 
ing out in the country to my relatives.” 

The door closed behind him, he strode rapidly 
through the shabby garden, and, reaching the 
street, faced toward the North Eiver, and struck 
resolutely out in that direction. He had gone half 
a dozen blocks, and was within but a short distance 
of the wharves, when the recollection that he had 
not a cent of money with which to pay his ferriage 
to Jersey City caused him to come to a sudden 
standstill. 

“And I can’t get to Cedarbrook without crossing 
the river, that’s one thing certain,” he muttered. 


92 


EKIC DANE. 


He had started from the Medfords’ with the inten- 
tion of tramping the fifteen miles that lay between 
New York and the Tilbert residence. In England he 
had thought nothing of walking that distance with 
some one of his school chums, and with his independ- 
ent spirit he had determined to get along without 
asking anybody for 'a direct loan just as long as he 
possibly could. But the river, which he had quite 
forgotten, now loomed up in front of him in the shaj^e 
of a very formidable barrier. 

“I wonder if I couldn’t turn an honest penny — or 
rather three of them — by doing some work for some- 
body. I’ll walk down the avenue toward the ferry 
and keep my eyes open for something, I don’t care 
what it is. I may be poor, but I’m not proud, and if 
fortune is bent on buffeting me around like a foot- 
ball, I’m just going to show that I can take the hard 
knocks like a man.” 

He resumed his walk and kept a careful watch on 
both sides of the street for a chance to render some 
sort of service to anybody that he thought would be 
willing to pay for it. 

But he saw nothing that looked promising until 
he came to the ferry itself. 

Here he noticed a small boy carrying a large 
satchel for an old lady. He watched until the two 
reached the entrance, then saw the boy put down the 
satchel and the old lady put something into his hand. 

I’ll try that,” exclaimed Eric to himself, and turn- 
ing up the side street, he stationed himself at the 
foot of the stairway that led to the elevated road. 

There were two other boys waiting there, evidently 
with the same object in view as himself, for they eyed 
him with no kindly glances after he had made his 
first offer, to an old gentleman with an enormous 
black valise, who scowled at him fiercely with his re- 
fusal. 


ERIC DANE. 


93 


“ I say, Kinney,” he heard one of the boys say, 
“ ketch on to the dude ciittin’ into our trade. Let’s 
bounce him.” 

Kinney, who was a most deplorable looking spec- 
imen of the genus gamin — with a crooked nose, only 
one good eye, and the vile stub of a cigar, picked up 
in the gutter, stuck between his lips — at once stepped 
toward Eric, and taking the stub from his mouth to 
expectorate, spoke straight to the point : 

“Look a here, young feller,” he said, “us chaps 
has got a corner on this ’ere stairway, an’ we don’t 
allow no interferin’ wid our rights.” 

Eric made suitable apologies, and was about to 
depart to station himself elsewhere, when the young 
Arab, who was spoiling for a fight, struck out at him 
with feet and hands combined. 

Although not by any means of a belligerent na- 
ture, Eric wheeled like a flash, seized Kinney’s bullet 
head and tucked it under one arm, preparatory to 
administering a gentle tap or two with the other, 
when the urchin’s comrade gallantly darted forward 
to the rescue. 

“ Let him go,” he cried, flourishing his legs and 
arms about like a mad pin wheel. 

“ Go for him, Jim,” roared Kinnej^ struggling to 
bite or kick his captor, who held him in such a way 
that all his attempts were rendered futile. 

Thus adjured, Jim ceased his gyratory motions 
and made a flying dart toward our hero’s head, 
doubtless with the intention of pulling his hair. 

But Eric was too quick for him. Still retaining 
Kinney’s head in a tight grip under his left arm, he 
threw out his right hand and caught Jim dexterously 
around the neck. 

“ Good for you ! I guess you’ve taught them to 
know a gentleman when they see one.” 

Eric loosened his hold on the two boys and looked 


94 


EBIC DANE. 


u]3, to see a young man of about twenty four leaning 
over the railing of the elevated railroad stairway just 
above his head. A policeman appearing on the 
scene at the same moment, Kinney and Jim decided, 
on finding themselves free, to seek fresh fields of in- 
dustry. So Eric was left master of the field. 

“Can I carry your satchel for you, sir?” he asked, 
when the gentleman who had congratulated him from 
the stairway reached the sidewalk. 

He was a handsome fellow, with a pair of gray eyes 
that twinkled with fun, and a general trimness of 
figure that took Eric’s fancy at once. He was dressed 
in a tweed, traveling suit, and in one hand carried a 
small satchel, while the other held a cane and a ten- 
nis racquet. 

When Eric requested the privilege of carrying his 
baggage for him, the young man first stared, then 
whistled and finally handed over his satchel with the 
remark: “Was that the cause of the row ? I saw 
the whole thing and admired your pluck.” 

“I was pretty mad,” returned Eric, “and perhaps 
I was a little too rough on the youngsters. You see 
they were both a good deal smaller than I am.” 

“I beg your pardon, but you don’t look as if you 
were accustomed to carrying hand baggage for a 
living,” went on the young man after a brief pause. 

Eric colored slightly, then answered frankly: “ I’m 
not, and I’m not doing it now for a living, but to earn 
three cents to pay for a ferry ticket. You see I want 
to get across the river, but haven’t a cent to my 
name.” 

“ Oh, you had your pocket picked ? ” 

“No, not that exactly; but all the money I had dis- 
appeared in a most mysterious fashion this morning.” 

“ Ah, I see. If you will permit me, I will present 
you with a ferry ticket and my best thanks for carry- 
ing my bag.” 


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EKIC DANE. 


97 




Eric was quick to appreciate tke delicacy of the 
other in seeking, by this means, to provide him with 
the means of crossing the ferry without actually 
making it apparent that he was paying for what 
might be considered a menial service. 

“ Thank you,” he said, as the other passed him in 
as his friend. “I may as well hold on to this till we 
get across.” 

The two walked on the boat together and as they 
took places at the forward end and began convers- 
ing about objects of interest on the river, Eric could 
not help fancying how surprised his companion 
would be if he knew the full extent of his financial 
straits. 

“I dare say he thinks I’m going to walk into my 
father’s house over in Jersey and laugh over my ad- 
venture with the rest of the family,” and in that 
supposition Eric was not far wrong. 

When the boat reached the opposite shore, our 
hero announced that his w^ay lay straight out through 
the gates of the ferry house. 

“ And I take the train — and my satchel,” said the 
other, with a smile, and so they parted. Little did 
our hero imagine under what distressing circum- 
stances they were next to meet. 

Inquiring of a policeman, whom he met in the 
street, in which direction he should go to strike the 
road to Cedarbrook, he received instructions and set 
out at a brisk pace to follow them. 

It was now after ten and the sun was beginning to 
grow uncomfortably warm. 

‘‘But never mind,” said Eric to himself. “Per- 
haps this time tomorrow I’ll be bowling along those 
fine Cedarbrook roads in a dogcart. And I’ll enjoy 
my luxuries all the more then for being j)ut through 
the mill now.” 

He had reached the open country, and was begin- 


98 


ERIC DANE. 


ning to debate within himself how he was to earn his 
dinner, when his gaze became fixed on the head of 
an approaching wheelman. 

“ If that fellow hasn’t got on my cricket cap, I’ll 

” then, as he remembered that he had stuffed 

that cap into the satchel he had had with him on the 
train at the time of the accident, and that possessing 
it he might be able to prove his identity to Mr. John 
Tilbert’s utter confusion and rout, realizing all this 
he threw up both hands excitedly and planted him- 
self squarely in the path of the approaching bicyclist, 
crying out : “ Stop there, will you ? I want to speak 
to you I ” 


ERIC DANE. 


99 


CHAPTER XVII. 

AN UNEXPECTED ALLY. 

“What’s the matter with the fellow?” 

This was what Eric asked himself as he stood in 
the middle of the road, signaling and calling to the 
approaching bicyclist. 

The latter seemed to be much disturbed. He 
looked in a wild kind of way from left to right, even 
tried to turn his head and gaze behind him. In 
short, he appeared to be endeavoring by every possi- 
ble means to avoid glancing at Eric. 

By this time he was close enough for our hero to 
be confident that he had made no mistake about the 
cap. There were the initials of the cricket club em- 
broidered on the band, and the two colors of Avhich 
the cap itself was composed, were such as made it 
very unlikely that there could be another just like it. 

“ He acts as if he had stolen it and knew I was the 
owner,” thought Eric. 

He planted himself fearlessly in the path of the 
swiftly advancing wheel, spreading arms and legs 
wide apart, and calling out in loud tones : “I say, 
stop, please, for a moment ! ” 

If the other had been on horseback or in a car- 
riage, 'he would, to judge from his manner, have had 
but small scruples about keeping straight on, thus 
compelling Eric to step aside at the last moment to 
avoid being run over. But a collision on a bicycle 
is as bad for the rider — if not worse — as for the 


100 


ERIC DANE. 


pedestrian, and after trying ineffectually to dodge 
past our hero, the wheelman was compelled to put 
on the brake very suddenly and dismount. 

He was an ill favored youth, with small, beadlike 
eyes, which had a restless, hunted look in them, as 
though they were accustomed to being placed on 
guard. He was roughly dressed, his long trousers 
giving him a very unwheelmanlike appearance. 

“I want to know where you got that cap you’re 
wearing,” answered Eric, laying a hand on the saddle 
of the bicycle, to prevent its rider from making off 
before he was through with him. 

“ Well, you’re a pretty cool sort of chap, I must 
say. What business of yours is that? Take your 
hand off that* saddle. I’m in a hurr3\” 

“ So am I — to have you tell me where you got that 
cap,” returned Eric, bracing himself for an encounter 
of muscular forces. “I’ve lost a cap that I’d know 
among a thousand, and it’s the very one you’ve got 
on your head.” 

All this time the other boy was glancing nervously 
behind him, and apparently paying but little atten- 
tion to what Eric was saying after the first few 
words. Suddenly he snatched the cap from his head 
and flung it to one side of the road. 

Naturally Eric started to pick it up, when in- 
stantly the wheelman sprang into the saddle and 
was off like the wind. 

Too late our hero realized how foolish he had 
been. He had the cap, to be sure, but he would 
gladly have allowed its late wearer to keep it if he 
could by this means have induced him to explain 
where he had obtained it. 

“ It’s out of the question to think of catching him 
now,” he said to himself dispiritedly, as he stood 
watching the fast vanishing figure on the glittering 
wheels. 


ERIC DANE. 


101 


And now a sudden thought struck him. 

“ I believe that bicycle was stolen,” he exclaimed. 
“ It was a splendid one, the latest make. That must 
be the reason why he didn’t want me to detain him.” 

At this moment Eric’s attention was attracted in 
the opposite direction by the sound of rapid trotting 
on the road ahead of him. Dark clouds of dust were 
sent rolling up by a horse and buggy that were ap- 
proaching at breakneck speed. 

The driver was a young man of about twenty one, 
dressed very much in the fashion of Eric himself 
when he appeared in the character of Clarence Ter- 
rington. He wore a pair of eyeglasses, through 
which he was staring as hard as ever he could. 

Catching sight of Eric he hauled his freckled 
white horse in with a succession of loud “ whoas ” 
and cried out : 

I say, did you see a chap on a bicycle come this 
way ? ” 

“Yes, I did,” answered our hero, promptly. 

“ Quick, what did he look like, and which way did 
he go?” 

The young man leaned out of the buggy eagerly. 

“ He went straight down the road, and he was a 
stout; stocky chajD, with reddish hair, and now he 
hasn’t got any cap. I want to have an interview 
with him the worst way.” 

“ Jump right in here with me then,” broke in the 
other. “ You can spot him for me if he tries to es- 
cape by hiding the machine somewhere.” 

Eric did not wait for a second invitation, and in 
three seconds he was being whirled swiftly back 
over the road he had just been, traveling on foot, 
with his Eton cricket cap lying in his lap. 

“ The rascal has stolen my machine,” the young 
man explained. “ Deliberately walked into my sis- 
ter’s grounds and took it from the hitching post, 


102 


ERIC DANE. 


where I left it standing while I went inside for a 
minute.” 

“ Have you any idea who the fellow can be ? ” 
asked Eric. 

“No. I came out and found my bicycle gone. 
Doctor Horn way happened to drive up the next 
minute. He said he’d seen a chap on a wheel com- 
ing in this direction. So while he W'ent in to see 
Lucy I borrowed his trap and here I am.” 

.“But do you think you can catch him?” inquired 
Eric, anxiously. “ He was out of sight before you 
came up.” 

“ I must catch him. The machine is worth a hun- 
dred and fifty dollars. But look there, isn’t that the 
fellow now?” and the driver of the buggy pointed 
excitedly to the right across a stretch of marsh to a 
glittering object that was moving slowly over the 
rough ground in the direction of a river just visible 
in the distance. 

“ It looks very much like it,” answered Eric. “ It 
is certainly somebody dragging after him something 
that shines bright in the sun.” 

Without a word, the young man in glasses guided 
the white horse to one side of the road, turned the 
carriage round and then started off with all possible 
speed “ on the back track.” 

“ I’m going to try and head him off,” he then ex- 
plained to Eric. “ I think he’s a rough from Newark, 
and only started toward Jersey City to throw me off 
the scent.” 

“ Are you going to drive to Newark, then ? ” asked 
Eric. 

“ Yes, if necessary, but I hope to catch him before 
we get there. There’s a place a little way beyond 
this where wagons go down in the meadows to cart 
away the grass when it’s been cut. I can drive across 
there, I think, without much trouble, and strike the 


ERIC DANE. 


103 


otlier turnpike a few minutes after that rascal 
does.” 

On they went, and presently the horse was turned 
aside and our hero was told to hold on tight as the 
buggy made a sharp descent. 

By this time, the youth with the bicycle was al- 
most across the marshes, and the chase seemed hope- 
less to Eric. 

But his companion assured him* that the other 
would feel so confident of their getting stuck in 
some bog, that he would grow reckless. 

“ And that is our only chance of catching him,” he 
added. 

The little white horse went flying along over the 
long grass, following a faintly marked out roadway 
that twisted and turned continually to avoid bogs 
and marshes. 

But at last they drew near the turnpike in front of 
them. The fugitive, however, had reached it some 
time before and went flying triumphantly by on his 
stolen wheel. 

Eric uttered an exclamation of disgust, but the 
other suddenly pointed toward the river, exclaiming 
excitedly : ‘‘They’re going to open the draw. We’ve 
got him now ! ” 

Sure enough, a schooner was rapidly approaching 
the bridge, and the attendant had already closed the 
gate, thus barring the passage for the cyclist. 


1 


104 


EEIC DANE. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A DOUBLE MISS. 

It real*ly seemed as though fortune had decided at 
last to favor Eric. Springing from the buggy, he 
rushed up the bank and upon the bridge before the 
youth with the bicycle had a chance to make good 
his retreat. 

The latter was caught in a regular cul de sac. Be- 
fore him was the gap created by the open draw, 
while in the rear stood Eric ready to stop him by 
grasping his wheel should he attempt to dash past 
him on the bicycle. 

And now the owner of the machine came running 
up, having hitched the horse to a big stone. 

“ Come, give yourself up, you unmitigated scoun- 
drel ! ” he called out. 

The scoundrel stood still in an attitude of hesita- 
tion for a moment or two. Eric was almost up to 
him. It seemed as if he could not escape unless he 
sprang into the river. 

And this is what Eric thought he Avas going to do 
when he suddenly ran the bicycle to one side, and 
left it leaning against the railing, and then made a 
dash toward the open draw, through which a large 
schooner was just passing. 

Eric started after him, but the next second he Avas 
horrified to see the felloAV leap out into the air. 
There Avas no splash, however, and an instant later 
the reckless youth appeared on the after deck of the 


ERIC DANE. 


105 


schooner. He had taken the risk and jumped aboard 
as the vessel passed the end of the bridge. 

“ Set that fellow ashore ! ” shouted our hero, making 
a trumpet of his hands. “ He’s stolen a bicycle.” 

“ There’s yer old machine. What more do you 
want ? ” retorted the wily rascal. 

“ Oh, we might as well let him go,” said the 
wheel’s owner, coming up at this moment. “I’ve 
got my j^roperty back.” 

“ But I haven’t found out what I want to from him 
yet,” objected Eric, gazing after the rapidly receding 
vessel as though he meditated plunging into the 
stream and swimming off in pursuit of it. 

“ I’m afraid it’s too late now,” said the other. “ It 
looks as though the scamp had got on pretty friendly 
terms with the schooner’s crew already. What con- 
cerns me principally is how I am going to get home 
with that horse and buggy and my machine. A 
bicycle isn’t exactly the sort of vehicle to lend itself 
kindly to being towed behind. I am ever so much 
obliged to you for what you have already done for 
me, though.” 

“ Don’t mention it,” replied Eric, who thought he 
saw what was coming. “I shall be ^ery glad to do 
anything more for you in my power. If it had not 
been for my meeting you I would not have come so 
near getting hold of that fellow again.” 

“That is. a funny way of looking at it,** laughed 
the other, adding, “ but if you wouldn’t mind driv- 
ing that horse back to my sister’s for me, you will 
put me greatly in your debt.” 

“ Well, I need to have somebody in debt to me the 
worst way,” thought Eric, recollecting his empty 
pockets and the near approach of dinner time. 

But of this he said nothing to his new acquaint- 
ance, but merely announced that he would drive the 
buggy back if the other would lead the way. 


106 


ERIC BANE. 


“ But I can’t ride over that stuff if I can drive over 
it,” explained the wheelman. “ There are too many 
holes and ditches cropping up unexpectedly. If 
you’ll be good enough to drive back to where we 
left the other road, I’ll ride around by this one and 
meet you. It’s too steep to get the carriage up to 
this level. I’ll start right off so as to be there as 
soon as you are. It’s a long way round, but I can 
go faster, you know.” 

So saying, he mounted his wheel and went skim- 
ming off. 

“He’s a queer kind of customer,” mused Eric, 
“trusting a fellow he’s never seen before with a 
borrowed horse and buggy. Still, I don’t see very 
well what else he could do. I Avonder Avhat he’d 
think if I asked him to give me my dinner as pay ? ” 

Indeed as our hero drove along over the grassy 
road this problem of hoAV he should provide himself 
with a midday repast began to groAV more and more 
formidable. 

Judging from the position of the sun, he decided 
that it must be close upon noon, and noAV that the 
novelty of finding himself penniless had Avorn off, 
Eric realized that he Avas in a serious case indeed. 

“ I might imitate that tramp and ask the felloAv to 
invite me home to dinner Avith him,” he suggested 
to himself, with a smile. 

The smile, however, was a feeble one, and soon 
flickered out. 

Up to the present Eric had tried to regard his mis- 
adventures merely as so many interesting episodes 
filling Aipthe brief interval preceding his installation 
into his rights. 

But would that interval be brief ? Three days had 
already elapsed since John Tilbert had informed him 
that he Avas an impostor, and Avhat had he done since . 
then toAvard proving the contrary ? 


EEIC DANE. 


107 


Very little, alas ; and just now it seemed as if he 
was drifting into a situation where he would be in 
a position to accomplish still less. 

His mind filled with these sober thoughts and dis- 
mal forebodings, our hero mechanically guided the 
white horse back across the undulating meadows. 
In about ten minutes he had reached the point on 
the opposite side where they had left the other turn- 
pike to pursue the bicycle thief. 

He had driven slowly, so as to be sure of finding 
the young man with the eyeglasses there when he 
arrived. But he had not yet come up, nor was he in 
the vicinity". 

“ This is queer,” thought Eric. 

It certainly was, for he could see where the other 
road joined the one on which he was now waiting, 
and nowhere on either of them could he discern any 
object bearing the slightest resemblance to a bicycle. 

Meanwhile the white horse was growing restive. 

‘‘Wants his dinner as much as I do mine,” sur- 
mised Eric. 

What should he do? He was ready to believe 
that if left to himself the horse would go straight to 
where his master lived. Still there was no certainty 
about it, and besides, was he not in honor bound to 
keep his api^ointment with the young man who had 
intrusted the buggy to his care ? 

“ He may have taken a run down some side street 
to see a friend or make a purchase,” reflected Eric. 
“ I ought to wait here till he comes, especially as I 
haven’t any pressing engagements to call me else- 
where.” 

So he drove to one side of the road under a tree, 
got out and began talking to the horse, feeding him 
now and then with tufts of grass. 

There were not many houses about. The nearest 
was a country tavern, some hundred yards distant, 


108 


ERIC DANE. 


and presently Eric conceived the idea of driving 
there and inquiring whether a young man on a 
bicycle had been seen to pass lately. 

So he got in the buggy again, and was soon en- 
gaged in conversation with the proprietor of the inn, 
a fat little man, with a bald head and a round face. 
He was standing out in front, near the horse block, 
walking up and down the road as if in search of 
guests. 

“No, I can’t say I have seen a bicycle go by 
within the last fifteen minutes. Were you expecting 
a friend ? ” he said. 

“Well, I had an appointment to meet a wheelman 
just down the road here. But he doesn’t seem to be 
even in sight. Whoa, there.” 

“ Your horse seems to be restless. Your friend 
may be detained for some time. Would it be pre- 
suming in me to suggest to you let my man take 
your trap around to the stable and bait your horse, 
while you make yourself comfortable in the porch 
here? We should be very happy to have you take 
dinner yourself. I’ll send one of the boys to watch 
for your friend.” 

The little landlord smiled hospitably, and thereby 
suggested a scheme to our hero. 


EKIC DANE. 


109 


CHAPTER XIX. 

AT THE SILVER CUP. 

“ Will you let me earn my dinner and that of my 
horse ? ” asked Eric, proceeding to put his idea into 
words as soon as the landlord paused. 

The latter looked very much astonished. He evi- 
dently could not comprehend why a young man who 
could alford to drive about the country in a buggy 
should not have pocket money enough to pay the 
modest charges of an inn like the Silver Cup. 

“Let you earn your dinner ?” he repeated. “Is 
that what I understand you to say ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Eric, hurriedly. “ I haven’t a 
cent of money in my pockets — lost it all this morn- 
ing. I’m willing to do anything from sweeping a 
room to feeding the horses.” 

“ But I haven’t any room that needs sweepinj>* the 
chambermaid can’t do, and my stableman always 
waters the horses.” 

Poor Eric ! He was growing hungrier every min- 
ute, and his face began to look as gloomy as the 
great black cloud that had arisen in the west and 
was fast spreading itself all over the sky. 

“ If it wasn’t for this horse and buggy,” he said to 
himself, “ I might strike for some farmhouse and 
offer to help them in with their hay before the rain 
comes.” 

The landlord, having discovered the financial 
status of the young gentleman in the buggy, betook 


110 


EEIC DANE. 


himself into the inn and sat down in the doorway, 
with his eye fixed on Eric as though he suspected 
he was planning to make off with the gaudy sign 
hoard that was swinging just above his head. 

“ If he’d given me a chance I’d have explained how 
I came to have a horse and carriage on my hands,” 
reflected our hero, as he noticed the suspicious fash- 
ion in which he was being watched. “ As it is, I be- 
lieve .the man thinks I have stolen the turnout.” 

At this moment a rockaway, drawn by a team of 
bays, and with two gentlemen on the front seat, 
came thundering down the road at a furious rate. 

Suddenly one of the men pointed to Eric, said 
something to his companion, and the rockaway was 
pulled up alongside the white horse and buggy. 

“Where is Mr. Weldon? ” asked the man who had 
pointed to him, of Eric. 

He had got out of the rockaway and walked up 
to the white horse, which he began to stroke and 
glance over in a critical way. 

“Is Mr. Weldon the young man that wears eye 
glasses and had his bicycle stolen ? ” inquired Eric. 

“ Yes, yes. Is he in the hotel, and did he get his 
machine back ? ” 

“ Yes, he got his bicycle back, but he isn’t in the 
hotel. I don’t know where he is. He was ” 

But at this point the other flew into a perfect 
passion and prevented him from explaining further. 

“ What are you doing with my horse and buggy ? ” 
he cried. “Get out of that carriage this instant, 
you young outlaw.” 

“I am not an outlaw, and how do I know that this 
horse and buggy belong to you?” retorted Eric, 
hastening to the defense of the property that had 
been left in his charge. 

“ You know it because I tell you it does,” fairly 
shoutod the old gentleman, for he was a man of 


EEIC DANE. 


Ill 


about sixty, placing a foot on the step and a hand 
on the dashboard preparatory to stepping in and 
taking possession. 

But at that instant the storm that had been gath- 
ering for the past half hour burst with sudden fury. 
The rain came down in torrents, while a vivid flash 
of lightning shot across the heavens and was fol- 
lowed instantly by a thunder clap that fairly shook 
the earth. 

The old gentleman backed away from the buggy 
and made a dash for the porch of the inn, whence 
he shouted to his friend in the rockaway to see that 
“ that young rascal ” took his horse and carriage 
around to the shed. 

“ Then bring him back to the hotel here,” he added, 
“so we can find out what he has done with your 
brother in law.” 

AVhen the two carriages reached the shed, where 
the stableman took charge of them, Eric turned to 
the gentleman who had been driving the rockaway 
and inquired : “ Is the old man a doctor ? ” 

“ Yes,” was the reply. “ He is Doctor Hornway, 
and that horse and buggy really belong to him. My 
brother in law borrowed them to chase a thief who 
stole his bicycle. The doctor waited and waited at 
my house for him to bring it back, then got so im- 
patient that I was obliged to bring him off to hunt 
for him. But where did you leave him? Stop, 
though, if it is a long story don’t tell it till we get 
inside, or you’ll have the old gentleman rushing out 
here to know what has become of you.” 

The stranger, who was a pleasant looking man of 
twenty five, then arranged with the stableman to 
care for all three of the horses, after which he and 
Eric, by dint of dashing from one place of shelter to 
another, managed to reach the inn without getting 
very wet. 


112 


EKIC DANE. 


They found the doctor engaged in earnest conver- 
sation with the landlord, and from the manner in 
which they both looked at him when he came in, 
Eric decided that he must have been the subject of 
their talk. 

“ Now, what have you done with young Mr. Wel- 
don ? ” began the old gentleman, as soon as he caught 
sight of him. 

“ I expected to meet him here,” replied our hero, 
trying to speak calmly, although the other’s rough 
manner was extremely exasperating. 

“You did, eh ?” ejaculated the doctor, walking up 
to him and looking him closely in the eje. “ How 
do you account for his not turning up, then ? ” 

Eric bore the scrutiny without flinching, strong in 
the consciousness of innocence. 

“ I can’t account for it,” he replied. “ But I’ll tell 
you the whole story if you will listen to it.” 

The old gentleman grunted out an assent, and 
they all four sat down. 

Eric began at the point where he had met the 
rowdy on the stolen bicycle, told of the recognition 
of a cap he had lost (which he held up for inspec- 
tion), related how the rascal had slipped through his 
fingers, and then went on to recount what had taken 
place after young Weldon had made his appearance. 

“If I had looked behind me while I was driving 
back across the meadows I might have seen just 
where he disappeared,” he concluded. 

“ Umph, so that’s your story, is it ? ” commented 
the doctor, gruffly. Then turning to his friend, he 
added : “ What do you think of it, Brookfield ? ” 

“It sounds pretty straight,” was the latter’s reply. 
“ And this storm would account for Forrester’s not 
turning up on time. You know you can’t drive a 
bicycle through the mud.” 

“ But you must remember that it has only been 


ERIC DANE. 


113 


raining since we arrived a few minutes ago, and the 
landlord here tells me that this fellow has been 
hanging about for over half an hour.” 

“You’ve got your horse and buggy back, though,” 
returned Mr. Brookfield, “ so I don’t see what you 
have to find fault with.” 

This remark set the irascible doctor off into a 
fresh rage. 

“ Laurence Brookfield ! ” he exclaimed. “ Do I de- 
serve this at your hands, when I am doing all I can 
for your poor wife ? I have told you of the delicate 
state of her nerves, and you certainly remember how 
anxious she was about Forrester. And it is for her 
sake I am going to examine this fellow very particu- 
larly.” 

“But still I see no cause to worry ” began Mr. 

Brookfield again, when the other sharply interrupted 
him with : 

“You have not heard the landlord’s story. I 
have, and 1 feel assured that there is something very 
strange about this affair.” 

Then, turning to Eric again, the old gentleman 
continued: “I suppose you will be willing to give 
prompt answers to some questions I am about to put 
to you. You must see for yourself that for me to 
have my carriage taken by one person and returned 
by another, who can give no satisfactory explana- 
tion as to what has become of the first named, is, to 
say the least, very extraordinary.” 

“I don’t see why it should be,” Eric ventured to 
interpose. 

“ Oh, of course you would say that,” went on the 
other, complacently. 

“ But you asked me yourself for my opinion,” and 
Eric gave a faint glimmer of a smile. He w^as weak 
with hunger, and what with this new complication 
began to feel utterly dispirited. 


114 


ERIC DANE. 


He had only one thing to console himself with for 
his detention by the old gentleman : it provided him 
with an excuse for remaining under cover during the 
storm, which still raged violently. 

“ What is your name and where are you from ? ” 
continued the old gentleman after an instant’s pause 
to recover his equanimity. 

“ My name is Eric Dane and I belong in Cedar- 
brook,” answered Eric, promptly. 

The effect of this simple announcement was start- 
ling in the extreme. 


ERIC DANE. 


115 


CHAPTER XX. 

WHAT DOES IT MEAN? 

Ekic had no sooner announced his name than Doc- 
tor Horn way rushed across the room, seized him by 
the arm, and began to look steadily at his eyes. 

“ Hold up your head, my boy,” he said in a voice 
strangely altered from its recent gruffness, although 
there was still discernible in its tones a strong un- 
dercurrent of suppressed excitement. 

Our hero wondei’ingly obeyed, while the landlord 
and Mr. Brookfield looked on in undisguised aston- 
ishment. 

“Strange,” the old man muttered ; “the visual or- 
gan seems steady and the general demeanor is quiet, 
too. An interesting case to study — very,” and relax- 
ing his hold on Eric’s arm for an instant, the doctor 
rubbed his hands together in evident enjoyment over 
some anticipated pleasure. 

But the landlord’s curiosity could be held in leash 
no longer. 

“Um, ahem!” he began ; “do you think the young 
man is ill ? I am sure I did not notice anything of 
the sort before you arrived. He may be merely pre- 
tending, you know ” 

“ Tut, man, no more of that,” sharply interrupted 
the doctor. Then, glancing out of the window, and 
perceiving that the storm still .raged furiously, he 
added ; Can you accommodate us with dinner ? I 


116 


EKIC DANE. 


must wait here awhile longer to see if that Forrester 
does not turn up.” 

“ Certainly, with pleasure. The table will be ready 
for you in five minutes,” and the gratified host bus- 
tled ofi to the kitchen. 

“ Are you going to detain this young man. Doctor 
Horn way ? ” asked Mr. Brookfield. 

“Detain him !” exclaimed the other. “Most cer- 
tainly I am. Why, he is a ” 

The rest of the sentence was whispered in Mr. 
Brookfield’s ear, so Eric could not catch it. But he 
saw the start that the younger man gave, and heard 
him say : “ No, it can’t be possible. I see no indica- 
tions of anything of the sort.” 

“But didn’t you just now hear him call himself 
Eric Dane ? ” broke out the old man. “ And have you 
so soon forgotten that that was the name of the poor 
young fellow who was killed three days ago in that 
terrible railroad accident?” 

“ True ; that is strange ; ” and Mr. Brookfield 
favored our hero with a mingled look of fear and 
pity that caused Eric more disquietude than all the 
doctor’s wild invectives had done. 

“But I really am Eric Dane,” he exclaimed, start- 
ing up from his chair. “ It’s all a mistake. I was 
not killed in that accident. It is a plot to rob me of 
my inheritance on the part of my cousin John Tilbert 
at Cedarbrook.” 

“There, hear!” triumphantly ejaculated the doc- 
tor at this point. “ He mentions Tilbert and Cedar- 
brook, so it cannot be a mere coincidence of name. 
No, I cannot be mistaken, I think. The lad who 
strayed away from Morris Meadows was under the 
delusion that he existed in the name of some one 
else, and always a person deceased.” 

What did it all mean ? Eric was completely mysti- 
fied, It was evident that neither of the gentlemen 


ERIC DANE. 


117 


placed any credence in his story, but why had the 
doctor’s manner altered so suddenly ? And who was 
this person who had strayed away from home, and 
with whom the old gentleman seemed determined to 
connect him ? 

“I give it up,” he said to himself, “but as the old 
man doesn’t look upon me as such a villainous char- 
acter as he did half an hour ago, I suppose it can do 
no harm to remain passive and see the adventure 
through. Besides, I don’t care to go away till I learn 
what has become of that young chap with the bicy- 
cle.” 

At that moment the landlord appeared to an- 
nounce that dinner was ready. 

“ Come, Eric,” said the doctor, rising and taking 
him by the hand — “ as if I was a little boy,” our hero 
muttered to himself. 

“ But why should he call me Eric,” he further re- 
flected, “ if he believes me to be an impostor ? And, 
greatest mystery of all, why should he invite me to 
dine with him ? ” 

However, this last was a proceeding to which Eric 
was not at all inclined to object. Indeed, he was so 
hungry that he paid but little heed to his compan- 
ions at table, and hence did not observe the fre- 
quency and attentiveness with which they looked at 
him. 

“ I think I’ve earned this meal honestly,” he told 
himself, recalling to mind the services he had ren- 
dered young Weldon in the matter of recovering his 
bicycle. 

As they rose from the table a carriage drove up to 
the door. 

“ Did you see anything of a young fellow waiting 
around here with a buggy and a speckled white 
horse ? ” Eric heard a familiar voice inquire of the 
landlord. 


118 


EEIC DANE. 


‘‘ It’s Forrester ! ” exclaimed Doctor Hornway, and 
lie hurried ontto the porch, not forgetting, however, 
to take Eric’s hand in that same peculiar fashion. 

‘‘ I owe you a thousswid apologies,” exclaimed the 
young man with the glasses, hurrying forward as 
soon as he caught sight of our hero. “You see when 
I get going for a good spin over first class roads I 
usually forget everything else, and besides, I was 
eager to tell my sister how lucky I had been in get- 
ting my machine back. So I ran straight past the 
spot where I had agreed to wait for you, and never 
thought of you or the horse and buggy till my sister 
asked me if I didn’t meet her husband and Doctor 
Hornway.” 

“ And why didn’t we meet you, I should like to 
know ? ” here interposed Mr. Brookfield. 

“Because I turned off just above here to take a 
coast down Bobber’s Hill,” replied young Weldon, 
adding, as if inspired by a sudden recollection, “ and 
that reminds me, there’s Lucy out in the carriage 
now, Larry. She insisted on coming along for fear 
I’d forget to report if I found you.” 

“Well, now that every thing has been straightened 
out,” began Eric, “ I’ll go ” 

“Yes, yes,” quickly put in Doctor Hornway. “I’ll 
take you right along with me. Landlord, please 
have my bill made out and send that buggy of mine 
around to the door.” 

“Are you going in the direction of Cedarbrook?” 
inquired our hero, in some surprise, for as yet he had 
not the faintest conception of the fate that was in 
store for him. 

“ Certainly I am, and will be glad to have your 
company.” 

Doctor Hornway spoke hurriedly as he dropped 
Eric’s hand and turned tQ whisper a few words to 
young Weldon. 


EBTC DANE. 


119 


Eric noticed the start the latter gave, and then 
the odd look he cast toward himself. The next in- 
stant, with a hasty “ Good by,” he started toward the 
stables. 

In a very few minutes the doctor’s buggy was at 
the door, and presently Eric was seated beside him 
on his way toward Cedarbrook. At least, so he fondly 
imagined. During the drive the old gentleman by a 
few questions drew from our hero the story of his 
treatment at the hands of John Tilbert, although 
the only comments elicited were sundry ejaculations 
of surprise, incredulity or compassion. Then, “I 
am ever so much obliged to you for giving me such 
a good lift on my journey,” said Eric, some twenty 
minutes later, as the white horse’s head was turned 
in at the gateway of a brown cottage, set in the midst 
of a colony of towering poplars. “ I will get out here,” 
he added, as the doctor gave no sign of stopping. 

“ Oh, I want you to come in with me,” was the re- 
ply ; and then the old gentleman called out in ring- 
ing tones: “Jim, oh Jim!” 

A tall, powerfully built negro came hurrying from 
the stables in answer to the summons. He took the 
horse by the bridle as the doctor brought him to a 
standstill in front of a white block at the side of the 
house. 

“Now then,” said the doctor, stepping out, and ex- 
tending his hand to Eric. 

“But this is surely not Cedarbrook,” objected the 
latter. 

“ No, I cannot say that it is,” was the reply. “ This 
is where I live, and I want you to pay me a little 
visit.” 

“ You are very kind,” returned Eric, scarcely able 
to believe that he had heard aright. He added 
eagerly, as a sudden possibility struck him : “ You 

do believe that I am Eric Dane, then ? ” 


120 


ERIC DANE. 


“ We will talk of that later,” responded the other 
evasively, as he led the way into the house. 

Eric followed wonderingly, and presently found 
himself in a neatly furnished apartment on the sec- 
ond floor. 

“ Make hourself at home here,” said the doctor, 
waving his hands from bed to wash bowl in hospita- 
ble fashion. 

Then he hurried off, locking the door behind him. 


ERIC DANE. 


121 


CHAPTEK XXI. 

THE TRUNK IN THE CLOSET. 

“ Well, that’s a nice way to treat a guest,” said 
Eric to himself, going to the door and trying the 
knob to make sure he had heard aright. 

There was no mistake about it. He was a pris- 
oner. What could be the meaning of it all ? 

Eric dropped into a chair near the window, and 
tried to think of a solution to the problem. The 
only conclusion to which he could arrive was the 
one that Doctor Horn way must be in the employ of 
John Tilbert. 

“But then that is so very unlikely,” he reasoned. 
“ It was by the merest chance I fell in with hiifl. 
Still, it was just at the time I told my name that the 
old man’s manner to me changed so suddenly.” 

At this moment he became conscious of voices in 
the next room. 

“Eavesdropping, under the circumstances, is per- 
fectly justifiable, I take it,” he murmured, as he rose 
from his seat, tiptoed softly across the carpet, and 
placed his ear against the flowered wall paper. 

“But, Paul,” a woman’s voice was saying, “is it 
safe to have such a person in the house ? My nerves 
have been all of a tremble since you told me.” 

“Nonsense, Priscilla,” he heard the doctor reply 
in a lowered tone, “ he is perfectly harmless ; be- 
sides, I have turned the key on him, and you need 
not see him at all. I shall take him his supper and 


122 


EKIC DANE. 


breakfast, and the first thing in the morning 111 
drive him over to the asylum. It’s too far to take 
Zenobia now, after the drive that Weldon gave her 
this morning. Besides, there are several patients I 
must see this afternoon, which reminds me that I 
must be off at once. Don’t give yourself any un- 
easiness. He can’t get out, and as an additional 
l^recaution 111 put Jim on his guard.” 

“ G-reat Caesar ! ” exclaimed Eric, under his breath. 
“ They’re taking me for an escaped lunatic ! ” 

Everything was made clear to him now. The doc- 
tor’s abrupt alteration of manner, his desire to look 
at his eyes, young Weldon’s strange glance at him 
after that whispered communication at the Sil- 
ver Cup, his present imprisonment ! 

All our hero’s other trials and misfortunes seemed 
dwarfed to nothingness beside the fate that now 
hung over him. 

“ But they’ll surely knoAV at the asylum that I have 
never been there before,” he reflected after an in- 
stant, with a ray of hope. The next moment he was 
plunged in gloom again by the recollection of Doc- 
tor Hornway’s expressed wish to study his case. 

believe he’d be only too glad to confine me at 
his own expense. Then the next thing Mr. John 
Tilbert will hear of the affair, which will just about 
finish all my chances of getting my rights. If I 
can only get away now, before the thing goes any 
further ! ” 

G-etting up from the sofa, he proceeded to make a 
thorough examination of the room. It was a good 
sized one, and was evidently the guest chamber. 
There were two windows and two doors in it. Of 
the latter, one was that which Eric knew was already 
fastened from the outside, while the other opened 
into a large closet used as a clothes press. 

After ascertaining thus much, Eric turned his at- 


ERIC DANE. 


123 


tention to the windows. He had hoped to find a 
piazza roof running along beneath them, but there 
was a sheer descent to the ground fifteen feet below. 
This, being the driveway leading back to the stable, 
was covered with hard blue stone, not an inYiting 
substance on which to risk a leap. 

“Now is the time that haystack from the theater 
would come in handy,” said Eric to himself, with a 
shadowy kind of smile. 

This faded quickly, as he turned away and once 
more made a careful inspection of every object in 
the apartment. 

“ Let me see,” he muttered, as he completed his 
round without finding a single peg on which to 
hang a hope, “ it was nearly three o’clock when we 
got here. I suppose they have supper at six. I 
wonder if there’s any hope of my persuading that 
doctor when he comes up to bring me mine that he’s 
making a terrible blunder. But I suppose the more 
1 say the worse muddle I’ll make of it, as the very 
fact of my claiming to be Eric Dane is what put it 
into his head to capture me. No, my onl}^ chance is 
to get away from here tonight, make the best of my 
way to Cedarbrook, find out through Percy Tilbert 
or the coachman where that McQuirl fellow lives, 
and then push my claim right through.” 

This course mapped out in his mind, Eric became 
wildly impatient to put it into execution, and began 
to pace the floor like a caged wild animal. 

Suddenly he stopped in the middle of the room, 
with the half suppressed exclamation : “ I wonder 
if I can’t do it ! ” 

The next instant he was in the closet, excitedly 
running his eye over all that it contained. There 
were four or five dresses hanging from hooks along 
the side, a couple of large pasteboard boxes on one 
of the shelves at the further end, while the space 


124 


EKIC DANE. 


underneath was occupied by an enormous trunk of 
the Saratoga pattern. 

The key was in the lock of tbe latter, and, with 
fingers fairly trembling from excitement, Eric 
dropped on his knees, turned back the hasp and 
threw up the lid. 

At this point in his investigations he heard a step 
in the hall outside. 

With two bounds he reached the room, and, pick- 
ing up a book from the table in front of one of the 
windows, he dropped into a chair in the attitude of 
an absorbed reader. 

But the footsteps died away further down the cor- 
ridor, and in another minute Eric was back in the 
closet, continuing his examination of the trunk. 

“ Tray’s in the lid. That suits me to a T,” he 
murmured. “I needn’t bother with that at all.” 

The body of the trunk was taken up with a man’s 
heavy overcoat, a sealskin sacque, and two or three 
winter dresses, the whole smelling strongly of cam- 
phor. 

“ Better yet,” exclaimed our hero, under his breath. 
“ I think I can get along by taking only a few things 
out.” 

Stooping over, he gathered up the sealskin sacque 
and two of the dresses, and proceeded to hang them 
behind the other garments already dejpending from 
the hooks on the wall. 

“There,” he said, after he had adjusted the outer 
gowns to his satisfaction, “ I don’t believe anybody 
would suspect that anything had been changed here 
unless they came to examine very closely, and I 
mean to fix matters outside so that they won’t think 
that’s necessary. Perhaps they won’t even open the 
closet door, but it’s best to be on the safe side. 
Now to try the fit.” 

Stepping carefully into the trunk, Eric curled him- 


EEIC DANE. 


125 


self up into the space that he would be forced to 
occupy were the lid down. 

The trunk, as has been said, was an unusually 
large one, and, being more than half empty, Eric 
found his quarters not so cramped as he had antici- 
pated. 

“ My knife will keep the lid open wide enough to 
give me all the air I need,” he told himself, as he 
sprang out to the floor again and returned to the 
pouter room. 

Let me see,” he mused. “ I suppose the bed- 
spread will be the proper thing to knot and hang 
out of the window here to ‘give tlie semblance of 
flight,’ as the novelists say. It’s too soon to hang it 
out now, but I’ll have to decide just how I’m going 
to rig it.” 

Ten minutes spent in testing the strength of vari- 
ous articles of furniture in the room convinced him 
that the leg of the bedstead was what he wanted. 

“I can push it up close to the window, take out 
the mosquito bar, fasten the spread properly, and 
there’ll be my escape all right. Only the spread 
won’t reach very far out of the window. But that ' 
won’t matter. They’ll only wonder the more how I 
dared risk my neck on it. And besides, if it was 
any longer I might really be tempted to take my 
chances that way instead of in the trunk. I’ll rest 
for an hour or so now, and then begin to put my 
scheme into operation.” 


126 


ERIC DANE. 


CHAPTEK XXII. 

ERIC BETRAYS HIMSELF. 

“ Priscilla, oh, Priscilla, will you bring up that 
key? You’ll find it on the left hand corner of the 
dining room mantel piece.” 

Eric started to his feet in a tremor of excitement. 
Having had but half a night’s rest, and worn out 
with the adventures of the day, he had dropped 
asleep while lying on the lounge waiting for the 
return of the doctor. 

It was the latter’s voice in the hall calling to his 
wife that had fortunately awakened him just in the 
nick of time. Or was it too late ? 

Wildly, yet as quietly as possible, he tore the 
spread from the bed, knotted one end of it around 
the leg of the bedstead, and, hurriedly throwing 
aside the mosquito netting, fiung the other end out 
of the window. 

Half a minute later he was in the closet, and, just 
as he carefully lowered the lid of the trunk on him- 
self, he heard the door of the room open and the 
doctor’s voice exclaim : “ I am sorry to have been 
obliged to leave you so long alone, but ” 

Here there was an abrupt pause, and Eric heard 
the old gentleman hurry across the floor, presuma- 
bly in the direction of the window. 

The next instant again the cry, “Priscilla, oh, 
Priscilla,” rang through the house. But the doctor, 
in his excitement, could not wait for his wife to ap- 



ERIC PUTS HIS PLAN IN EXECUTION, 








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ERIC DANE. 


129 


pear. Hastening to the head of the stairway, he 
called down : 

“ The fellow’s gone ! Dropped out of the win- 
dow, made a rope of the spread ! But come u];) here 
and I’ll show you.” 

‘'If she doesn’t suspect anything I’m all right,” 
reflected Eric, trying to twist himself into a more 
comfortable position. 

“ I told you, Paul, I was nervous about your hav- 
ing that lunatic here,” he heard Mrs. Hornway’s 
voice saying presently. “And my best spread, too. 
But mercy on us, he never could have dropped all 
that distance and not killed himself ! ” 

“ Where is he, then, Priscilla ? Look about you. 
He couldn’t possibly get under the bed.” 

“ Have you looked in the closet?” and Eric felt 
himself grow pale as he heard approaching foot- 
steps. 

“ But what would be the use in his concealing 
himself in a place and leaving the door open?” 
(How thankful our hero was that he hadn’t had 
time to close it.) 

“Well, he isn’t here, and I guess you must be 
right,” was Mrs. Hornway’s reply. “ What are you 
going to do about it, Paul ? ” 

“ I s’pose I’ll have to let him go,” the old man re- 
sponded regretfully. “ But it’s a great disappoint- 
ment to me, Priscilla. I don’t know when I have 
come across so interesting a case of mental aberra- 
tion, and I had it in mind to request the authorities 
at the asylum to allow me to make a special study 
of it. I am afraid I made a mistake in locking the 
fellow in. But I knew you would be nervous other- 
wise, and I could not take him with me on my 
rounds very well. But who’s that just drove up to 
the gate ? ” 

An interval of silence, and then Eric was horror 


130 


EBIC DANE. 


stricken to hear Mrs. Horn way exclaim : “Why, it’s 
Koh Manners ! Don’t you remember he wrote us 
that he was coming out to play in that tennis tour- 
nament at Orange, and, if the match lasted after 
six, he promised to have his friends drive him over 
and spend the night with us ? You go down and 
receive him, while I spread this bed over. AVe’ll 
put him right in here, but I wouldn’t say anything 
about that young man. He might not sleep so 
well.” 

Here was a serious predicament indeed. The 
perspiration broke out in great beads on Eric’s fore- 
head, as he crouched there in his confined quarters, 
wondering how long he would be doomed to occupy 
them. 

He had hoped that when the doctor discovered 
his supposed flight, the door would be left unlocked, 
thus giving him the opportunity to slip down stairs 
and out of the house after the family had retired 
for the night. But now that some one was to oc- 
cupy the apartment, the chances of detection in- 
creased tenfold. 

“I’m in for it, though,” he told himself, “ and I’ve 
got to go through with the business.” 

The minutes went slowly by, and then, “ I wonder 
if it would be possible for me to slip out now ? ” he 
asked himself, as he heard Mrs. Hornway leave the 
room and go down stairs. 

Cautiously he pushed up the trunk lid, rose from 
his cramped position, and stepped out on the floor 
of the closet. Oh, how pleasant it felt to stand 
erect! Eric threw back his shoulders, drew in 
several long breaths, 9,nd put his head out of the 
doorway to listen. 

The house was small, and he heard quite distinctly 
the greetings on the front piazza. He gathered-froiii 
them that the new arxival was a nephew of Mrs, 


ERIC BANE. 


131 


Hornway. Bat the voice was surely a familiar one, 
and belonged to some one whom Jie had seen very 
lately. The sounds were drawing nearer now. 
They were evidently all coming up stairs. 

Hastily Eric returned to his refuge, and just as he 
placed his knife in position and drew down the trunk 
lid, he remembered where he had heard the neAV 
comer’s voice before — from the steps of the elevated 
railroad station in New York that morning, and on 
the ferry boat afterward ! 

“ If he should hear me,” thought Eric, he would 
take me for a burglar, if they haven’t told him about ^ 
the scrape, and for a madman if they have. I’ve one 
chance left, though. He’s got to go down to sup- 
per, and if I can find out where the dining room is, 
so as to avoid it, I may be able to get off before he 
comes up again.” 

This plan really seemed to be feasible, and Eric be- 
gan to breathe more freely — figuratively speaking ; 
as a matter of fact, he was almost suffocated, for his 
knife had slipped, allowing the trunk lid to come all 
the way down. 

He soon succeeded in raising it, however, after 
undergoing a horrible fear that it might be provided 
with a spring lock. 

He now heard Mr. Manners moving about in the 
room, where he had evidently been left alone to pre- 
pare for tea. 

Presently he began to whistle a lively air, and as 
Eric listened he could not help contrasting his pres- 
ent lot with the future he had pictured to himself 
when crossing on the steamer. 

“I ought to be whistling over my toilet, too, this 
very minute, at Cedarbrook,” he muttered to him- 
self, bitterly. 

Then, his" innate manliness asserting itself, he set 
his lips together firmly and resolved to bear up 


132 


EKIC DANE. 


bravely, “ for it might be worse,” he reflected sensibly. 
“I might be a poor beggar in exactly the same box 
I am in at present, but without the shadow of a 
prospect of better days ahead of me.” 

Cheered by thus dwelling on the bright side of 
his fortunes, Eric seemed to find the air fresher and 
his quarters not quite so cramped, and he was en- 
abled to wait more patiently for the ringing of the 
tea bell. 

“ One would think I was hungry,” he even went so 
far as to laugh to himself, “ and expected to go to 
the table with the rest of the family.” 

Ker — chee ! 

Eric’s heart sank down to below zero, for it was he 
who had sneezed. 

Had Manners heard him ? With strained ears he 
listened for some sound that should tell him whether 
or not he had betrayed his presence. 

Yes, some one was hurrying across the floor, and 
the next instant Eric knew that Robert Manners was 
in the closet. He could almost imagine the expres- 
sion of bewilderment that must rest on the young 
man’s features. 

“ I thought sure I heard some one sneeze in here. 
It must must have been in the next room, though.” 

Ker — chee ! 

Eric had tried his best to stifle the sound, but 
vainly. 

“ By George ! ” exclaimed Manners, “ there’s some- 
body in the trunk ! ” 


ERIC DANE. 


133 


CHAPTEK XXIII 

FINDING FRIENDS. 

“ Why, if it isn’t the fellow that carried my bag ! 
What in the name of all that is extraordinary are 
you doing here ? ” 

This was Mr. Manners’s exclamation when he had 
flung up the lid of the trunk and beheld Eric crouch- 
ing inside. 

Strong in the consciousness of the purity of his 
motives, our hero rose to his full height, and con- 
fronting his discoverer, looked straight in his eyes 
as he replied : 

“ I am here because Doctor Hornway unlawfully 
made me a prisoner in this room, and I took this 
method of making my escape.” 

“ But how on earth did you expect to escape by 
doubling yourself up in that trunk? Were you re- 
lying on somebody’s coming along to carry it down- 
stairs ? But even that isn’t so mysterious as the fact 
that my Uncle Paul has made you a prisoner. What 
have you done ? Why didn’t he hand you over to 
the authorities ? Excuse me, but you must acknow- 
ledge that the affair has a very suspicious look.” 

“ I know it has, but I — ” before Eric could proceed 
further Mrs. Hornway’s voice was heard in the hall. 

“ Robert,” she was calling, “ who are you talking 
to?” 

“ Come in. Aunt Priscilla,” replied Mr. Manners, 
hurrying out to open the door for her. 


134 


EEIC DANE. 


Eric followed him, resolved to show that he was 
not afraid of an investigation, but Mrs. Hornway no 
sooner caught sight of him than she uttered an ear 
piercing scream, and would have fallen to the floor 
had not her nephew hastened to her assistance. 

“ Why — where was he ? ” she gasped out, looking 
at Eric as though he was an ogre with three heads. 

“ Oh, you mean this young man,” said Manners, as 
he conducted his aunt to the sofa. “I found him in 
the trunk in the closet, and he was about explaining 
to me how he got there when you came in.” 

“ In the trunk ! ” echoed Mrs. Hornway, in a tone 
of horror, appearing for the moment to forget her 
fears. ‘‘On top of my sealskin sacque and those 
winter dresses ! ” 

“ I assure you, Mrs. Hornway,” interposed Eric, 
stepping forward, “ that nothing is damaged in the 
least. I took out the sacque and two or three of the 
dresses, and was very careful with the others.” 

“ Why you appear to be all right,” exclaimed the 
doctor’s wife, after regarding him attentively for a 
second or two. Then, turning to her nephew, she 
added : “I have always thought Paul carried his 
hobbies too far, and I think he has done so now in 
the case of this young man. He doesn’t seem to be 
any more of a lunatic than I am.” 

“A lunatic!” repeated Manners in astonishment. 

“ Yes,” said Erie, with a smile, “ that explains my 
being locked up. Doctor Hornway, whom I fell in 
with by accident not long after I left you this morn- 
ing, Mr. Manners ” 

“ My lands, Robert,” here broke in Mrs. Hornway. 
“Have you met this poor, persecuted boy before ? ” 

“ I have, so you can imagine my amazement when I 
discovered him shut up in the trunk just now,” an- 
swered Manners, adding : “ But how came tlncle 

Paul to doubt his sanity ? ” 


ERIC DANE. 


135 


“Simply because I stated my name, Eric Dane, 
the fellow who was reported in the papers as hav- 
ing been killed in that terrible accident on the Mid 
Jersey Boad the other day. As it happens, I es- 
caped, but as nobody will believe it, I sometimes feel 
as if — but no. I won’t say that. If I have patience 
I am sure to come into my rights in the end,” and 
our hero spoke with a genuine earnestness that car- 
ried conviction with it. 

“ You are heir, then, to a large property in Cedar- 
brook? ” said young Maimers, interrogatively. 

“ Yes, of which my cousin, Mr. John Tilbert, hopes 
to deprive me, and retain it for himself.” 

“ Oho, so the wind sets from that quarter, does it ? ” 
exclaimed the young man. 

Eric began to congratulate himself that he had at 
last found an ally, when Doctor Hornway’s stentor- 
ian tones called up the stairs : 

“When are you two coming to supper? I’ve been 
waiting here for mine ten minutes and more.” 

“ Come right down with us, young man,” said Mrs. 
Hornway, turning to Eric. “ My nephew Bobert is 
a lawyer, you know, so he’ll have lots of questions to 
ask you.” 

“But your husband?” objected our hero, who, 
hungry though he was, still retained a wholesome 
dread of being locked up as a lunatic. 

“ Oh, I’ll make it all right with uncle,” put in 
Manners. “ If the worst comes to the worst, I can 
frighten him by representing the scandal it would 
cause to have it get abroad that he had been trying 
to lodge a sane person in the lunatic asylum.” 

Mrs. Hornway hurried ahead to have another place 
set at the table and explain matters to the doctor. 

Eric lingered with young Manners, who provided 
him with the means of freshening up his toilet. 

“ I thought there was something odd about your 


136 


EEIO DANE. 


wanting to carry my bag this morning/’ he said. 
“ So your cousin has cut off all your suj)plies, has 
he,?” , 

No, because I’ve never had any money through 
him yet,” replied Eric, as they started down stairs 
together. “I had a few dollars in my pocket when 
the accident happened, and I have since earned a 
few more, but I lost it all this morning, as I told you.” 

“ A.11 ? ” repeated the other. “ Then you are ” 

“Without a cent to my name,” finished Eric, as 
they entered the dining room. 

How little did he imagine then the weight those 
half dozen words would come to have, or what 
misery would be caused him on account of them ! 

Doctor Hornway looked rather sheepish as he 
greeted Eric with : “ So you thought to fool the old 
folks, eh ? Well, I suppose it’s no more than I de- 
serve for jumping at conclusions the way I do. 1 
was always so from a boy, when I concluded on first 
seeing a watch that because I couldn’t tell the time 
by it then, I would never be able to do so.” 

Everybody laughed at this, and so whatever of em- 
barrassment there might have been on the occasion, 
was dissipated. 

Our hero enjoyed that tea more than any meal he 
had eaten since the breakfast with the Marchmaus 
at Coney Island. Mr. Manners caused him to relate 
the whole story of his adventures since his arrival in 
America, and fully agreed with him in the opinion 
that bringing that McQuirl fellow into the presence 
of Mr. Tilbert would be the most effective means he 
could employ to settle the matter. 

“ But what do you think about that cricket cap 
affair?” Eric inquired. “Where do you suppose 
that bicycle thief got hold of it ? ” 

“ You are quite positive it was your cap ? ” asked 
Mr. Manners, . 


miC DANE. 


137 


‘‘Well, it doesn’t seem possible tliat there can be 
another like it in this countiy,” answered Eric. 
“ And I think if I could find out where he got it I 
might be put on the track of a satchel I lost, for 
some one must have carried it off at the time of the 
accident. If I had that, or a good many of the 
articles in it, I think I might be able to convince Mr. 
Tilbert that he has made a mistake.” 

“I don’t agree with you,” responded Manners. 
“As you did not have the articles with you in the 
first place, he can very easily accuse you of having 
secured them from somebody who picked them up 
the night of the accident, as in fact you will have 
done. See ? ” 

This was a point of view that it had not occurred 
to Eric to take, but he acknowledged the worth of 
it at once. 

“ Then you do not think my cousin really believes 
me to be an impostor,” he added. “ I have some- 
times imagined that perhaps he was really per- 
suaded in his own mind that the true Eric Dane was 
killed.” 

“ I have no doubt in the matter. Your cousin — if 
you will excuse my saying so — is a rascal, and I 
would like nothing better than helping you to ex- 
pose his perfidy. I am off on a brief vacation, and 
if you like I will devote the next day or so to making 
an effort to find that chap who sat next you in the 
car, and whose testimony, unless he has been bribed 
to perjure himself, which I think scarcely likely, 
will be worth everything to you. What do you say, 
Uncle Paul? Will you give us house room for a 
night or two, till we get this young millionaire es- 
tablished in his rights ? He may be a magnate one 
of these days, and you will be glad to reflect that he 
is under obligations to you.” 

“ Don’t [be so mercenary, Robert/’ returned the 


138 


ERIC DANE. 


old gentleman. ‘‘ I’m so often testy and hasty that 
I’m only too glad to atone when an opportunity 
offers. I told Eric this afternoon that I wanted him 
to make us a little visit, and I now rej)eat the in- 
vitation in a different spirit.” 

Eric thanked them from his heart, and it was ar- 
ranged that, he and Mr. Manners should start for 
Cedarbrook the first thing in the morning. The 
plan of operations was talked over during the eve- 
ning,' and at ten o’clock Eric placed his head upon 
his pillow, feeling almost as contented as though be 
had already been recognized as the master of the 
estate at Cedarbrook. 

And there was no foreshadowing of the evil that 
was to befall on the morrow. 


ERIC DANE. 


139 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A TEREIBLE ACCUSATION. 

When Eric awoke the next morning, he found that 
his room mate, young Manners, had already gone 
down stairs. 

“I wonder what time it is,” he said to himself, 
hurriedly beginning to dress. “After aR these peo- 
ple are doing for me, I hope I am not going to be 
late for breakfast.” 

He noticed that Mr. Manners’s coat was stretched 
over the chair where he had hung it the night be- 
fore. 

“ I suj)pose he’s in his tennis rig,” reflected Eric, 
and ten minutes later made his appearance in the 
dining room, expecting to find him there. 

But only Mrs. Horn way was there to receive him. 

“Oh, no, you are not late,” she said, after a 
pleasant morning greeting. “The doctor has not 
come down yet, and Robert has taken a walk to the 
station td find out about trains. But breakfast will 
be right in, so you may as well sit down.” 

As she spoke, Mrs. Hornway took her place at the 
foot of the table and rang the bell for the servant. 

Later Eric remarked that this bell was rung two 
or three times before it was answered, and that Mrs. 
Hornway finally exclaimed : “Where can Frances 
be?” 

However, in the course of a few minutes the latter 
entered at one door and the doctor appeared at the 
other. 


140 


ERIC DANE. 


“ Kob will be here in a minute/’ he said. “ 1 saw 
him coming down the road at a great pace. He 
told me last night that he always liked to take a 
good walk before breakfast.” 

“ Good morning, Eric,” said the young man, as he 
took a seat at the table. “ I thought you needed the 
rest, so I didn’t wake you when I got up. Let me 
see, we’ve got three quarters of an hour before our 
train starts, and that reminds me I must see if I 
have a sufficiency of ‘ filthy lucre ’ with me to carry 
us through.” 

So saying, Mr. Manners put his hand into the in- 
side pocket of his coat, which he had gone up stairs 
to put on before coming into the dining room. 

“ Why, what’s this ? ” he exclaimed the next in- 
stant. “Not a dollar, and I am positive I had at 
least five, if no more ! It is very strange ! ” 

“Did you have your pocket book with you this 
morning?” asked the doctor. “You may have 
dropped it when you were climbing some of the 
fences you met in cutting across lots.” 

“ No,” was the reply. “ It was here in the pocket 
of my coat, which I left hanging over a chair back 
in my room.” 

As he spoke young Manners’s eyes rested on Eric. 

“ I have been robbed,” the other went on, in cold, 
steady tones. “Can you throw any light on the 
mystery, Dane?” 

Like some one rudely aroused from pleasant 
dreams to face deadly peril, Eric realized in a flash 
all that the question implied. He had been in the 
room with the coat after the owner’s departure ; they 
had only his own words as to his respectability and 
trustworthiness, ^o, in one sense, it seemed only 
natural that suspicion should fasten on him. 

On the other hand, however, if he had stolen the 
money, it would seem odd that he should remain in 


ERIC DANE. 


Ill 


the house when he had had every opportunity of get- 
ting away. 

“I saw your coat hanging over the chair back,” 
he replied., in a voice which he tried to keep steady. 
“ That is all I know about it.” 

“But not all that we care, to know,” burst forth 
Doctor Horn way, rising from his seat, and speaking 
with even greater vehemence than he had displayed 
when Eric had first met him. “ Here is a guest of 
mine loses every cent that has been left in his coat 
pocket in a room shared with a stranger, of whom we 
know absolutely nothing, except that money is what 
he wants.” 

“Oh, Paul, Paul,” faintly pleaded his wife. “Per- 
haps ” 

“ There is no perhaps about it, Priscilla,” sharply 
retorted the old man. “Either this fellow, who 
calls himself Eric Dane, did or did not take the 
money, which can only be i^roved by a strict exami- 
nation. Robert, you search him, or I shall.” 

Young Manners had grown pale, but his lips were 
compressed, as he signed to Eric to accompany him 
into the front room. 

“I would rather have lost forty times the amount 
through my own carelessness than that this should 
happen,” he said, as he closed the door on them. 

“ I understand and thank you,” replied Eric, 
hoarsely. “I am perfectly willing to be searched, 
and repeat now what I told you last night, that I 
have not a single cent in my possession.” 

“ Heaven knows I want to believe you, Dane,” re- 
turned the other, as he began the task that was so 
repugnant to him. “ But you must see for yourself 
how much circumstances are against yon, and when 
Uncle Paul is aroused nothing will satisfy him but 
undoubted proof of innocence.” 

Pocket after pocket w^as explored in coat, vest and 


142 


EEIC DANE. 


trousers, but just as Manners was about to announce 
that he was satisfied, Doctor Hornway made his ap- 
pearance in the room. 

“ Be thorough now, Bobert,” he commanded. 
“Have you examined the pistol pocket yet? ” 

“ No he hasn’t,” broke out Eric, impulsively, throw- 
ing off his coat in order to show his fearlessness in 
the matter of investigation. “ Please don’t overlook 
anything. I declare that I know no more of what 
has become of Mr. Manners’s money than the dead.” 

“There is nothing here, sir,” said the nephew, 
withdrawing his hand from the hip pocket with a 
half sigh of relief. 

“And you have looked everywhere else?” per- 
sisted the doctor. 

“ Everywhere.” 

“ But I see that his vest is buttoned tightly,” went 
on the uncle. “Have you forgotten that it contains 
or ought to contain an inside pocket on the right 
hand side ? I know it is very seldom used, but I re- 
member once finding in it the name and address of a 
man who had fallen in a fit in the street, and whom 
I was called to attend.” 

What was it that caused Eric’s heart to give a 
wild leap in his breast at these words, the color to 
rush into his face and then as suddenly recede, leav- 
ing him pale as snow and with a tremor running 
through his body that Manners could not fail to no- 
tice as he proceeded to act on the doctor’s sugges- 
tion? 

Eesisting with difficulty the impulse to clap his 
own hands to the pocket, Eric waited for what he 
feared was the inevitable. A second more, and those 
fears were all too keenly realized. 

“By George, there is money here,” exclaimed Man- 
ners, adding involuntarily : “ And only last night he 
told me he had not a cent to his name ? ” 


EBIC DAME. 


143 


As lie spoke, lie drew out a flat roll of bills ! 

“ The rascally scoundrel ! ” exclaimed the doctor, 
striking out into the air right and left with his arms, 
and then bringing them back with resounding thuds 
against his own chest. “ So we have been cherish- 
ing a viper in our midst ! ” 

“But are you sure those are the bills you lost, 
Robert ? ” here interposed Mrs. Hornway, who had 
followed her husband into the room. 

“ I cannot remember just what J had,” replied Man- 
ners. “But I know there were three or four small 
bills, and those are what I have found.” 

“ They are mine, though,” began Eric, struggling 
to emerge from the daze of horror into which he had 

been thrown by the discovery. “ I can explain ” 

“ But you have only just explained that you were 
absolutely penniless,” interrupted Mr. Manners, 
whose manner toward our hero had now passed from 
compassionate doubt to contemptuous conviction. 

“I thought I was,” went on Eric, “till Doctor 
Hornway spoke of that inside vest pocket. I must 
have put my money there by mistake for my inside 

coat pocket yesterday morning and ” 

“A likely story indeed,” burst forth the irate doc- 
tor. Then, turning to his nephew, he added : 
“Robert, do you wish to prosecute this young 
thief?” 

“ No, I have my money back, and I hope this dis- 
mal failure will be lesson enough for the poor fel- 
low, whom I pity with all my heart. Let him go.” 

“ Umph,” grunted the doctor. “Perhaps we’re too 
easy on him ; but it does seem a pity to have such a 
likely looking young man housed with jail birds 
where he’d be apt to learn even worse tricks than 
trying to pass himself off for a dead man.” 

Eric tried to speak, but his throat was parched and 
his tongue refused to render service. He heard a sob 


144 


EKIC BANE. 


in the corner, and glancing over saw Mrs. Horn way 
wUh her face buried in her handkerchief. 

Quickly crossing the room, our hero passed close 
to her, and by a great effort summoned voice enough 
to whisper : “I am innocent.” Then, taking his 
hat from the stand-in the hall, he went out into the 
dazzling sunshine without another word. 


ERIC DANE. 


145 


CHAPTEE XXV. 

AT CEDAKBROOK AGAIN. 

As Eric turned to close the gate he saw the doctor 
standing- in the doorway looking after him. 

“ To make sure I don’t carry anything from the 
place with me,” he reflected bitterly. 

He was fairly stunned by this last turn his wheel 
of fortune had given. He had no plans, and, for the 
moment, no hopes. He walked on mechanically not 
knowing whither he was going, nor caring. 

“ Oh, what an idiot I have been,” he muttered. 
“ Here I’ve been going about for a day or two with 
over five dollars in my pocket, and thinking that I 
hadn’t a penny.” 

At first he had been quite mystified regarding the 
manner in which the money he supposed he had lost 
came to be discovered in a pocket which he was con- 
fident he had never used. But little by little it all 
became clear to him. 

“I was in my shirt sleeves,” he remembered, 
when I got that note of Mr. Banner’s at the Med- 
fords’, and I sat down straight away to count my 
money. Then when Boltboy spoke to me from the 
bed so suddenly, I caught it all up and stuffed it out 
of sight into an inside pocket, thinking I had my 
coat on. And there it has been ever since, while I 
have carried bags to earn ferry money, and all the 
rest of it. But now I really am penniless. I wonder 


146 


EEIC DANE. 


if I couldn’t have that Manners fellow arrested for 
stealing ! For it’s my money he’s got, and not his.” 

Poor Eric ! He had been so full of hope but a 
brief while before, that the sudden dashing away of 
the cup from his lips had left him almost despairing. 

But gradually his better nature asserted itself. 

The whistle of a locomotive now sounding ahead 
of him reminded him of the plan he had formed 
while locked up in the room at the Hornways’. 

“I am free, too ; that is another thing I have to 
be grateful for,” he told himself, as he quickened his 
steps. 

The next moment he had halted suddenly and was, 
tearing open his vest. The fifteen cents ! ” he ex- 
claimed. “ I know I had that much in silver at the 
Medfords’, and I don’t remember seeing it in Man- 
ners’s hand when he took the bills out. It must be 
at the bottom of that pocket yet.” 

And it was. A dime and a nickel were snuggled 
down into a corner, and when Eric drew them out he 
felt for the moment positively rich. 

“ That ought to take me from here to Cedarbrook 
on the train,” he reflected. Then he hesitated. 
Should he spend it for that which he could attain by 
other means, that is, by walking, or save it for food ? 

“ But I will have to spend it for my dinner, any 
way, if I go afoot,” he reflected. “Whereas the train 
will take me to Cedarbrook in less than half an hour, 
leaving me all the rest of the morning to work on 
my case. And who knows but that before I’m very 
hungry again I won’t have found that McQuirl fel- 
low, and proved to John Tilbert’s satisfaction, or per- 
haps disgust, that I am what I claim to be ? ” 

Buoyed up by this hope, Eric quickened his steps 
and presently reached the railroad track. 

It was then a simple matter to keep the line in 
sight till it brought him to a station. 


ERIC DANE. 


147 


He reached the latter five minutes before the time 
at which the train he and Mr. Manners were to have 
taken was due. And the fare to Cedarbrook was 
only ten cents, so he would still have money in his 
pocket when he got there. 

Fifteen minutes later he was walking up the well 
remembered avenue leading by the Dane property. 
During the brief journey he had mapped out in his 
mind a plan of action. 

He would skirt the Tilbert grounds till he came in 
a line with the stables, then approach the latter by 
the rear driveway, which he had noticed on his for- 
mer visit, and fall into conversation with the coach- 
man. 

He disliked intensely the idea of having to dodge 
a possible meeting with the family in this way, but 
under the circumstances it seemed the wisest course 
to pursue. 

There were but few people astir, villages of the 
Cedarbrook stamp being usually very quiet during 
the forenoon. Indeed, Eric saw no one on either 
side of the street, hence the footsteps of some one 
walking rather rapidly behind him were heard with 
unusual distinctness. 

Thus it came to pass that Eric could not very well 
avoid paying particular attention to them, and as he 
turned down the side street that skirted the edge of 
the Dane property, he naturally looked back to see 
who it was. 

What was his astonishment to discover that the 
solitary pedestrian was Doctor Horn way! 

“ He must have come up on the train with me,” he 
reflected, “ without my knowing it.” 

This was quite possible, as Eric had been the first 
to board tlie cars, and also the first to leave them. 

‘‘ But what can he be doing up here ? ” he asked 
himself. 


148 


EKIC DANE. 


The next instant the question was partly answered 
by the fact that the old gentleman turned in at the 
drive and walked up to Mr. Tilbert’s front door. 

“I am afraid that means trouble forme/’ muttered 
Eric, coming to a standstill. “I shouldn’t wonder 
a bit if he’d take this little trip on the sudden im- 
pulse that it was his duty to tell John Tilbert what 
he knew about me.” 

• What was to be done ? His cousin would be only 
too willing to believe such a tale as Doctor Hornway 
would have to tell, and in all likelihood take active 
measures to prevent Eric from ever gaining access to 
the grounds. 

“ If I can only see the coachman before Doctor 
Horn way has a chance to get his interview I ” 

Thus reflecting Eric walked rapidly on, and in two 
minutes reached the stables. They were very hand- 
some ones, requiring the services of two or three 
men, besides the coachman, to take care of them and 
the half dozen horses they housed. 

“ Which of you is the coachman ? ” began Eric, 
addressing himself to a group of three, one of whom 
was cleaning chains by rattling them to the tune of 
sleigh bells in a bag, while the other two were spong- 
ing the wheels of a pony cart that had just come in. 

“None of us,” laughed he with the chains. Then, 
raising his voice, he called : “Jim, here’s a young 
gintlemin would like to spake Avid you.” 

At this summons, a smooth shaven, good looking 
young Irishman came forward, to whom Eric hur- 
riedly put the question : “Do you remember driv- 
ing liome a young fellow Avho was here last Tuesday 
night?” 

“ Faith, sure I do,” was the response. “ But you’re 
not going to be tellin’ me that that same is yersilf. 
He Avas half a head shorter nor you be, I’d swear to 
in a court o’ justice.” 


EKTC DANE. 


149 


Oh, no, Fm not the one,” replied Eric. “ But I 
want to see him, and if you could tell me where he 
lives I’d be ever so much obliged.” 

“Well, it’s about seven mile from here ” 

“ Seize that fellow ! ” 

It was Mr. Tilbevt’s voice, and Mr. Tilbert himself, 
with a brow as lowering as a thunder cloud, stood in 
the doorway. 


150 


ERIC CANE. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

FLIGHT. 

For an instant or two the stablemen looked at 
their employer as .though they felt that they had 
not caught his meaning. 

Then Doctor Hornway interposed. 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Tilbert,” he said, “ but I think it 
is scarcely necessary to use force with the young 
man. He may be depraved, but I assure you he is 
quite tractable. Now that he is aware that you 
know our experience with him, I think he will not be 
apt to trouble you again.” 

Mr. Tilbert had listened to this interruption with 
scarcely repressed impatience. He toyed with his 
watch chain, bit his lip and tapped with his patent 
leather shoe on the ground. 

“ You will excuse me, Doctor Horn way,” he struck 
in with his calm, cold tone, as soon as the other 
paused, “ but I must beg to differ with you. I have 
permitted this fellow to go scot free once already, 
and I think I owe it to the community to put a stop 
to his career.” 

Meanwhile the men had been taking in the strange 
scene with open mouthed wonder. Eric remained 
standing perfectly quiet, with his eyes fixed on Mr. 
Tilbert. He could see that the latter was restive un- 
der that steady gaze. 

But now he turned, and addressed himself directly 
to our hero. 


EKIC DANE. 


151 


“What was your object in coming here this morn- 
ing? he asked. 

“ I came on business connected with the matter of 
obtaining proofs to secure me my rights,” replied 
Eric, trying to speak as calmly as possible, although, 
as may be imagined, he was inwardly boiling at the 
indignities heaped upon him. 

He knew, however, that an outburst of wrath on 
his part would injure rather than help him ; hence 
the curb he endeavored to place upon himself. 

“But I wish to know the particular reason you 
had for coming to my stables and engaging in con- 
versation with my employees,” persisted Mr. Tilbert. 

“ And I am not yet prepared to state it,” replied 
our hero, who feared that should his cousin obtain a 
hint of his intentions respecting the McQuirl boy, he 
would leave no stone unturned to thwart him. 

“James,” said Mr. Tilbert, turning to his coach- 
man, “will you be kind enough to inform me what 
this young man wanted of you before I came up ? ” 

“He was askin’ me,” replied James, “where that 
young gintlemin lived as I drove home that night 
afther he had tould you, sorr, of Misther Eric’s bein’ 
killed on the railway.” 

On hearing this Mr. Tilbert could not prevent a 
faintly perceptible catching of the breath, indicative 
of both surprise and satisfaction. He had evidently 
not thought of this contingency, and was glad to 
have been put on his guard. 

But “ Oh, that was it,” was all he said, adding : “ I 
wish all of you to understand that I forbid you ever 
again exchanging a syllable of conversation with 
this fellow as long as you are in my employ.” 

Eric felt as if he should choke with the indigna- 
tion that welled up within him. But what could he 
do ? 

To have come out with the assertion of his real 


152 


EEIC DANE. 


identity, and a denunciation of his cousin as a schem- 
ing usurper, would have resulted only in a scene 
that could do him no possible good. 

However, as his hope of obtaining the desired ad- 
dress at the stable was now out of the question, and 
as it seemed that Mr. Tilbert was determined on 
making a prisoner of him, Eric, reflecting that dis- 
cretion is the better part of valor, resolved on strik- 
ing out for liberty. 

In an instant his mind was made up. He was a 
good jumper. Indeed, he had carried off a prize for 
a running leap at Eton, and although flight seemed 
ignominious, he felt that under the circumstances it 
was justifiable. 

Up to this moment, as has been said, he had re- 
mained calm and motionless, which was now all in 
his favor. He was standing with his face toward 
the hedge that skirted the grounds at a distance of 
some thirty feet from the side of the stable. 

He measured its height with his eye, gathered all 
his energies together, and just as Mr. Tilbert finished 
speaking, he made a sudden dash. 

Fleet as a deer he sped across the strip of lawn, 
and just as the group he had left had collected their 
faculties sufficiently to cry out, he left the ground 
and in a graceful curve cleared the hedge, landing 
on his feet on the road without. 

Down this he turned, in the direction that ap- 
peared to lead away from the populous parts of the 
village, and ran with a speed that he had never 
equaled even in the most exciting games of hare and 
hounds at school. 

In fact, he was a good eighth of a mile away be- 
fore any of his pursuers succeeded in reaching the 
road. 

“ It would be all over with me now if I was in 
town,” he reflected, as he heard the wild cries of 


EKIC DANE. 


153 


“ Hi there ! Stop thief ! ” behind him. But as there 
was nobody else around to hear them but a few lazy 
cows on one hand, and a flock of grazing sheep on 
the other, there seemed to be no immediate reason 
to fear the consequences. 

There were no houses beyond the Tilberts’ on this 
side street, which appeared to be but little traveled, 
judging from the grass that cropped up here and 
there. 

About half a mile further on was a wood, the 
same, Eric thought, as that in which he had had his 
encounter with the tramp. 

By a hasty glance thrown over his shoulder now 
and then he saw that he w’as rapidly drawing away 
from the Irishmen who were giving chase ; and he 
had just begun to congratulate himself on the ease 
with which he had escaped, when a two seated phae- 
ton turned into the road ahead of him. 

A coachman in livery was on the front seat driving, 
while a large lady in a flaring straw hat sat behind 
him. 

“ Hallo there, stop thief ! Stop that boy ! ” 
shouted one of the Tilbert men, as the carriage ap- 
proached. 

Kesolved to sell his liberty as dearly as possible, 
Eric kept his eye fixed on the movements of the 
phaeton, and relaxed not an iota in his speed. 

Once more the pursuers called for help, and the 
coachman headed his horse across our hero’s path. 

Eric swerved to the other side of the road, and 
kept steadily on, whereupon the coachman threw 
down the lines, and prepared to give chase on foot. 

“ Oh, Patrick, don’t leave the horse ! ” shrieked 
the lady. 

“But here comes an escaped thafe, mum,” re- 
sponded Patrick, who was evidently itching to take 
a hand in the affair. 


154 


ERIC DANE. 


His mistress, however, declared that if all the forty- 
thieves were loose, he shouldn’t leave her alone in 
that carriage, and during the discussion Eric had 
shot past like a flash. 

On and on he sped, until Anally he reached the 
confines of the wood. 

But he did not stop yet. He dashed in among 
the trees, stumbling over stumps and trailing vines, 
until he could see no sign of a clearing on any side. 

Then, and only then, did he slacken speed ; and 
selecting a mossy knoll running up to the foot of a 
great oak, he threw himself at full length upon the 
soft sod, and listened. 

But there was not a sound to be heard but the 
twitter of the birds overhead and the wild beating of 
his heart. 


EKIC DANE. 


155 


CHAPTEK XXVII. 

THE GOAL IN SIGHT. 

“ I WONDER if I will ever dare live in Cedarbrook, 
even after I am acknowledged,” mused poor Eric, as 
panting for breath, he set about planning his next 
move. “If I had a strong imagination, I might 
consider myself in the light of a persecuted prince, 
whose subjects have risen in rebellion and banished 
him from their kingdom. Still, I can’t believe that 
any prince ever took to his heels and ran for dear 
life, with a mob of stablemen shouting ‘ Stop thief ! ’ 
after him.” 

The fact that he was not yet out of the woods, albeit 
literally in them, speedily drew his thoughts from 
such comparisons to fix them on the pressing prob- 
lem of how he should prosecute his search for the 
McQnirl boy, now that it was manifestly impossible 
for him to obtain the latter’s address through the 
Tilbert coachman. 

“ Seven miles from here,” Eric reflected. “That is 
a clew, to be sure, but a mighty slender one. Stop, 
though. Is it likely that he would have come out of 
his way that night to tell that news about me ? He 
must have merely stopped over at the Cedarbrook 
station on his way home, so I think I wdll be pretty 
safe in deciding that that seven miles is not toward 
Jersey City, but farther on along the line.” 

Having come to this conclusion, he began to feel 
quite hopeful, receiving a set back, however, when 


156 


ERIC DANE. 


he suddenly recollected that Mr. Tilbert, having now 
received warning of his intentions, might contrive 
to block his path . 

The “ what to do ” having been resolved on, it now 
remained to settle the “how to do it.” 

In the first place, Eric could not be certain that 
the borders of the wood were not lined with men 
deputed by Mr. Tilbert to seize him as soon as he 
made his appearance. Indeed, his ears were on a 
continual strain to catch the faintest sound of foot- 
steps that might be even then approaching his re- 
treat. 

Then, again, how was he to live while prosecuting 
his search? 

He had eaten only half a breakfast at the Horn- 
ways’, and was already beginning to feel hungry. 

“I must stick to my original intention,” he de- 
cided, “ and try to obatiii work at some place near 
that McQuirl’s home. If Percy hit it anywhere near 
what it is, the fellow’s name must certainly be odd 
enough for any of his neighbors to tell me the rest 
of it when I mention that.” 

His programme having been mapped out thus far, 
he began to grow impatient to begin. 

“ I’ve got five cents in my pocket,” he recollected, 
“ and if I start to walk that seven miles now, that 
will get me enough lunch to keep me up till I get 
there about two or three o’clock.” 

Urged by these practical considerations, Eric re- 
solved to find his way to the railroad track, and fol- 
low this guide to the unknown town which was seven 
miles off. He judged that over half an hour had 
elapsed since he had ceased his flight ; he had quite 
recovered from his exhaustion, and there were no 
signs of pursuit. 

So he started off in the direction from which he 
had a few moments before heard a locomotive whis- 


EEIC DANE. 


157 


tie, and in the course of ten minutes found himself 
on the borders of a meadow that intervened between 
the woods and the track. 

There was no one in sight. The scene lay bathed 
in the mellow sunshine of early autumn, and seemed 
as peaceful as a Sabbath noon. Climbing up an em- 
bankment to a level with the rails, Eric struck into 
a good swinging pace along the outer edge, for he 
did not believe in track walking. 

He knew that he was going away from Cedar- 
brook, and was equally certain — from the absence 
of certain landmarks he had noted on his way up 
that morning — that he was not moving in the direc- 
tion of Jersey City. 

So he took heart of hope and trudged cheerfully 
on. Trains passed him in both directions, and pres- 
ently he came to a station. 

‘‘ How far is Cedarbrook from here ? ” he inquired 
of the flagman at the crossing. 

“ Two miles, but sure you’re going the wrong way 
for it,” was the reply. 

“ Oh, I don’t want to go there,” went on Eric, 
“I’ve just come from it. Perhaps you can tell me 
the name of the town that is seven miles from Cedar- 
brook in this direction.” 

“ Troth, an’ that would be South Oxford.” 

“ Then that must be five miles from here. Is it a 
large place ? ” 

“ Middlin’. There do be a turntable, and some of 
the trains on the road start from there.” 

“ Thank you,” and Eric hurried on, glancing in at 
the clock in the waiting room as he went by. 

It was a quarter past eleven, almost lunch time, 
as he reflected with some concern. 

However, about half a mile further on he passed 
an orchard Avhich had dropped a portion of its super- 
abundant harvest outside of the fence. 


158 


EBIC BANE. 


Pickers were at work inside, and Eric called out 
to know if lie might take some of the apples l}’ing on 
the ground. 

“ As many as you like, 3"Oung man,” answered a 
ruddy faced farmer, who was superintending opera- 
tions. 

So our hero sat down on the grass and ate until 
he could eat no more, then stuffed his pockets full, 
and, making a mental note of the location of the or- 
chard with a view to remembering the owner when 
he “ came into his property,” he expressed his obli- 
gations and took up his tramp again. 

Two more stations were passed, and at length, 
about one o’clock, he approached a region Avhere 
there was much. backing up and down of engines, 
switching of trains and shrieking of whistles. 

“Yes, this is South Oxford,” replied a brakeman, 
who had just stepped off a car he had brought to a 
standstill on a siding, and to whom our hero had 
put the question. 

He was a very pleasant looking young man, with 
light hair and mustache, and a pair of such very 
blue eyes that once seen they were not easily for- 
gotten. 

“ I’ve met that fellow somewhere before,” Eric told 
himself, as he resumed his walk. 

He had not gone ten paces, however, when he 
heard some one coming up raihdly behind him. It 
was the brakeman, who joined him and said : “Ex- 
cuse me, but will you tell me how the young lady 


“ What young lady ? ” exclaimed Eric, utterly at a 
loss to know what the fellow meant. 

“The young lady that you helped out of the car 
the night of the accident. She seemed kind of faint 
just before you got aboard the Newark train.” 

“ Oh ! ” ejaculated Eric, and a host of memories 


ERIC DANE. 


159 


came thronging back upon him, among them the rec- 
ollection of where he had seen the brakeman be- 
fore. 

He had been on that ill fated train, and was the 
one who had replied to our hero’s question as to 
how many had escaped from that last car, with the 
announcement that he had himself helped out a boy 
and an old lady with a cat. 

The boy must have been the very person of whom 
he was now in search, and perhaps this man knew 
his name and all about him. 

“ The young lady recovered from the shock almost 
immediately,” he went on the next instant. “ She is 
an actress, you know, and was able to appear the 
next night but one. I had never met her before, 
though. I thought I knew your face, and am very 
glad I met you. You may be able to render me a 
great service.” 

“ How is that ? ” inquired the other, looking puz- 
zled in his turn. 

“I will tell you,” continued Eric. They were 
walking between the tracks toward the station, which 
was still some distance olf. “If you remember 
about my being with that young lady, you probably 
haven’t forgotten that you told me you had helped a 
boy out of the window of that car.” 

“ Yes, and there was one old lady with a cat, too. 
Were they any relation to you ? ” 

“No, but I would like very much to know the name 
of the boy. Did he tell you what it was ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied the brakeman with a laugh. “ He 
was terribly scared, and as soon as he caught sight 
of me while he was wriggling his way out of that 
window, he cried out, ‘ Help, help ! I’m Horace Mc- 
Quillam, of South Oxford.’ You see, he was afraid 
we wouldn’t know where he belonged if he got 
stunned and could’t talk. But he only got his arm 


160 


EEIO DANE. 


sprained, and some scratches on his face. He made 
more fuss about it, though, than the old lady with 
the cat. She was pretty badly bruised, but didn’t 
give a whimper.” 

But Eric scarcely heard the latter sentences. The 
mention of the name McQuillam coupled with South 
Oxford convinced him that he was on the right track 
at last, and what was more, very near the terminus 
of his quest besides. 


ERIC DANE. 


161 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A VANISHED WITNESS. 

you happen to know just where this Horace 
McQuillam lives here in South Oxford?” 

This w as Eric’s question on the resumption of the 
conversation between himself and the brakeman, 
which had been interrupted by the passage of an ex- 
press. 

“ Yes, I found out all about him afterwards. His 
father is a butcher, and the family live on Maple 
Street, not far from where I do. Horace is a clerk 
in the butcher shop. If you want to go there. I’ll 
show you the way, if you’ll wait three minutes till I 
change my coat and cap.” 

“I should say I did want to go there,” responded 
Eric, “ and I can’t say how much obliged to you I am 
for what you have told me. Here, won’t you have an 
apple ? ” 

“ Indeed I will and much obliged. I’ll be back in 
a minute,” and this genial railway official disap- 
peared within the station building, leaving our hero 
in a state of the wildest excitement. 

“ The last link is forged,” he told himself. “ All 
that will be left to do will be to get my chain of evi- 
dence back to Cedarbrook. Then we’ll see i^^hat Mr. 
John Tilbert will have to say for himself.” 

The brakeman, in citizen’s coat and derby hat, now 
rejoined him and led the way up into the town. He 


162 


ERIC DANE. 


was on liis way home to dinner, it appeared, and was 
off duty until three o’clock. 

“ There’s the shop,” he said, at the end of a five 
minutes’ walk, pointing to a brilliant red signboard 
across the street, which set forth the fact that be- 
neath it was to be found the “ Home Market ! ” 

“ I am ever so much obliged to you,” said Eric. 

Oh, that’s all right,” called out the young brake- 
man as he turned down a side street. “Good by.” 

“Good by to you,” responded our hero, adding 
to himself : “ There’s another fellow to be remem- 
bered when I become a man of property.” 

Then he hastened across the street and entered 
the butcher shop. 

It was a dull time of day for trade in the meat 
line. Indeed, not a rib, leg or loin was visible, all 
having been either already sold or consigned to the 
ice chest. A big man in a white apron, with a news- 
paper over his face, was dozing in a chair tilted back 
against the wall. 

“ Ahem ! ” 

Eric cleared his throat and shuffled his feet on the 
sawdust covered fioor to attract attention. 

“ Oh, who is it? ’’yawned the big man, pulling 
the naper off his face and trying to look business- 
like." 

“ Is Mr. Horace McQuillam in ? ” asked Eric. 

“Young Hoddy? Well, j^ou’ve just missed him.” 

“ Missed him ? ” echoed Eric. “ Why, where has 
he gone?” 

“I don’t just know, but if you will step upstairs 
perhaps Mr. or Mrs. McQuillam can tell you.” 

Filled with a nameless dread, Eric went out at the 
side door the big man held open for him and as- 
cended by the dark stairway to the fioor above. His 
knock at the door at the end of the front hallway 
was not answered immediately. 


EKIC DANE. 


163 


Indeed, such a clatter of tongues, mingled with 
the rattle of knives and forks came from behind a 
door at the rear that it was small wonder that no- 
body heard him. He knocked again, this time with 
both hands, and then he heard a woman’s voice say 
“ Hush ! I think I heard somebody at the parlor 
door.” 

Taking this as a hint to repeat the announcement 
of his presence, Eric rapped once more, and then 
through the transom came the sound of the com- 
mand : “Benny, run and see who’s there.” 

The next moment the door at which our hero was 
standing was opened b}^ a mite of a boy in a little 
blue checked pinafore, bearing in one hand a slice 
of bread, topped with a mixture of butter and su- 
gar. 

“ Can I see Mr. or Mrs. McQuillam ? ” inquired 
Eric. 

As a matter of fact he was looking straight at two 
persons seated at dinner in tlie back room, who, he 
felt certain, were Horace’s father and mother. 

“ Hey ? ” drawled the boy, who had been so ab- 
sorbed in looking at the visitor that he had paid no 
heed to what he said. 

Eric repeated his request, this time so loudly that 
Mrs. McQuillam heard it and came bustling out. 

“ I am sorry to interrupt your dinner,” began Eric, 
“ but I will detain you only for a moment. I wished 
to know where your son Horace has gone. They 
told me ” 

“Oh, yes, I never was so amazed in all my life,” 
broke in Mrs. McQuillam. “ Set right down and I’ll 
tell you all about it. Benny take that elephant of 
yours off the sofa. Well, as I was sayin’, we never 
was so amazed. Hoddy’s always been a good boy 
enough, but we never thought as he was the kind to 
make strangers take to him so. But then I s’pose 


164 


EBIC DANE. 


they never got over his kindness that night in stop- 
ping over to teJl them their cousin was killed. I 
was quite beat out when Hoddy told me he’d . done 
it, for I never had an idea he was that thoughtful 
like. But do it he did, and this mornin’ not more 
than an hour ago, up comes a message from the gen- 
tleman that he wants Hoddy to go on a camping out 
trip to some woods or other away up north. He 
must go right off, the man said, and he helj)ed us 
pack up Hoddy’s things.” 

“When — how long is he going to stay?” gasped 
Eric, as Mrs. McQuillam paused to take a long 
breath. 

He had been mentally stunned for an instant by 
the news that the fellow he had been trying for so 
lono- to find had eluded him just as success seemed 
ready to crown his quest. 

“ There wasn’t a thing said about that,” w^ent on the 
voluble Mrs. McQuillam. “ You know Hoddy hasn’t 
been able to do much in the shop since he hurt his 
arm in the accident, so Mr. Tilbert said he might 
just as well be takin’ a vacation, having a good time 
of it, as mopin’ here at home. Wasn’t it beautiful of 
him ? ” 

Eric could not help giving a slight start at the 
mention of Mr. Tilbert’s name. He had had, of course, 
not the slightest doubt that his wily cousin was at 
the bottom of this scheme to get this very important 
witness out of the way, but it was somewhat of a 
shock, nevertheless, to have the fact thus hopelessly 
confirmed. 


ERIC DANE. 


166 


CHAPTEK XXIX. 

BEFOKE THE MAGISTEATE. 

“ Then cannot give me your son’s address,” 
Eric inquired of Mrs. McQiiillam, as lie rose to his 
feet, realizing- in a dazed sort of way that it was 
time for him to go, yet not knowing which way he 
should turn when he reached the street. 

“No, the man said they were going where there 
wasn’t aii}^ post office, an’ that Hoddy would be 
taken good care of till the}' brought him back. Did 
you want to see him particularly?” 

“ Yes, but I will have to call again ; perhaps in a 
month from now. Good afternoon. I am sorry to 
have interrupted your dinner,” and forcing a smile, 
Eric hurried off, leaving Mrs. McQuillam with her 
mouth ajar, ready to ask tw'enty questions she had 
been reserving till she should have descanted at 
length upon the good fortune that had befallen 
“Hoddy.” 

“ If any chap needed a good supply of cheerful- 
ness it’s one Eric Dane, killed on last Tuesday night, 
-whose ghost is wandering in broad day about the 
streets of South Oxford, -with only five cents and 
three apples in its pockets, and not a roof to cover 
its head.” Thus reflected our hero, who was indeed 
now reduced to the most desperate straits of his ex- 
perience. Heretofore he had always before him the 
hope of obtaining that proof which was all he needed 
to secure him not only the necessaries of life, but 
luxuries and a fortune. 


166 


EKIC DANE. 


“ But Tilbert can’t keep that fellow away without 
an address forever,” he told himself. “ If I choose 
to stay here till he comes back, I can make him 
prove my identity then as well as now. So Mr. Til- 
bert is only putting off the evil da}’^ for himself.” 

At this instant a hand was laid on his shoulder, 
and an emphatic voice exclaimed : “ You are ' my 

prisoner ! ” 

Eric wheeled around, and found himself in the 
grasp of a tall, heavily built man, with a bushy black 
beard, and a pair of gray eyes that seemed to look 
right through him. A little distance behind stood 
one of the men from Mr. Tilbert’s stable, who had 
evidently pointed him out to the officer. 

“What do you mean? What have I done?” 
cried Eric, indignantly. He made no attempt to 
shake himself free, but saw at once that that would 
be useless. 

“ You are charged with attempted burglary, actual 
theft, and general vagrancy. Oh, you needn’t fear 
but we have plenty of warrant for taking you.” 

“ And what are you going to do with me ? ” 

“ Lodge you in the county jail, where you ought 
to have been three days ago. Come along, now.” 

“ Can’t I have a trial ? ” inquired Eric. 

“ Oh, of course you’ll be examined by Justice 
Goyle for a preliminary,” replied the officer. “ But 
here we are now,” and he led the way up the steps 
to a large, square brick building, one side of which 
was guarded by iron barred windows. 

Turning to the left from the broad corridor, Eric 
was ushered into a room scantily furnished with two 
chairs and a desk. 

Behind the latter sat a queer looking man, be- 
tween forty and fifty years of age, with a cast in one 
eye and a ridge of gray running diagonally across 
his otherwise black head of hair. He wore steel 


ERIC DANE. 


167 


rimmed spectacles, and altogether had an extremely 
fierce aspect. 

Eric had only time to make these observations, 
when a carriage, driven at a high rate of speed, 
came to a stop before the building, and through the 
window our hero saw Doctor Hornway, Kob Man- 
ners and Mr. Tilbert alight therefrom. 

The gentlemen who are to prefer the charges 
against the prisoner,” explained the ofiicer to the 
justice, with a wave of his hand toward the car- 
riage. 

“ Oh,” murmured the justice, in a weak, faint voice, 
which contrasted so forcibly with his terrifying 
aspect, that, in spite of his troubles, Eric almost 
smiled. « 

The next moment the three plaintiffs entered the 
room. 

“So you’ve caught him,” said Mr. Tilbert, in a 
voice of undisguised gratification, as his eyes fell on 
our hero, standing between the officer and the stable- 
man. 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the former ; “ your man here 
made good time on that horse he rode, and we 
spotted the young rascal just as he came out of that 
butcher shop where you said he’d gone.” 

“Now, gentlemen,” piped uj) the magistrate, “will 
you be kind enough to state the act or acts for which 
you wish the prisoner committed?” 

“ Mr. Manners,” said Mr. Tilbert, “ will you please 
make your statement of facts.” 

“I spent last night,” began the young man, “at 
the house of my uncle. Doctor Hornway, who is here 
with us now. I occupied the spare room on the sec- 
ond fioor, found the prisoner in a trunk in a closet, 
and recognized him as the boy who had earlier in 
the day carried my satchel to the ferry in New York 
for me. I accepted his explanation of being held as 


168 


ERIC DANE. 


a lunatic by Doctor Hornway, as a plausible one, 
and that niglih occupied the same room with him. 
This morning I took a walk to the railroad station 
before breakfast, leaving my coat containing my 
pocket book over a chair back in the room. 

“ On the evening previous, I may here mention, 
the prisoner told me that he wa-s absolutely without 
funds, having lost his last cent in some mysterious 
fashion that very morning. To resume, at the break- 
fast table I had occasion to refer to my pocketbook 
when I discovered that all the money in it amount- 
ing to some five dollars, was gone. My uncle in- 
sisted on having the prisoner searched, which being- 
done, five dollars was found in his inside vest pocket.” 

“ Hav^you anything to say to this charge, young 
man? ” asked the justice, turning toward our hero. 

“Nothing, except that I did not know the money 
was there, that it was mine, and has been as really 
stolen from me as though I had had my pocket 
picked.” 

“ Take care, young man,” here interposed Mr. Til- 
bert. “Remember you are in a court of justice, and 
that a penalty is attached to contempt.” 

“But I do not quite understand,” said the justice, 
looking from one to another of his visitors with a' 
half puzzled, half pleading expression on his counte- 
nance, which would have been denominated meek 
were it not for the sinister look imparted to it by the 
faulty eye. “What was this young man doing in a 
trunk? Had that any connection with his business 
of carrying satchels ? ” 

“ My uncle, I think, can explain that part of the 
affair,” replied young Manners, smiling at the doc- 
tor’s frantic gestures to him to be silent. 

“Then we should most certainly like to hear from 
Mr. ” 

“ Doctor Hornway,” suggested the nephew, 


ERIC DANE. 


169 


“ Thank yon,” went on the justice in his childish 
tones. “ Will Doctor Hornway kindly favor us with 
an account of how the prisoner came to he confined 
in a trunk in a closet in his house ? ” 

“ I didn’t confine him there,” blurted out the doc- 
tor, who Avas evidently by no means pleased at the 
turn the line of evidence bad taken. “ He got in of 
his own accord.” 

“Were you aware that he was in your house. Doc- 
tor Hornway ? ” persisted the magistrate. 

“Certainly I was. I brought him there myself.” 

“ With what object ? Your nephew has just stated 
that the prisoner carried his satchel down to the 
ferry for him, from which I infer that the said pris- 
oner w^as a boy such as j^ou might hire to do chores 
about the house. And yet it seems your nephew 
occupied the same room with him. Please elucidate 
more clearly.” 

The justice’s voice was childish, but he evidently 
had a head for business, and Eric began to feel hope- 
ful as he noted this and the apparent annoyance it 
caused two of his prosecutors. Mr. Tilbert was bit- 
ing his lip and tapping the floor with that restless 
patent leather shoe, while Doctor Hornway looked 
decidedly foolish. 

“ I met him in front of the Silver Cup tavern,” an- 
swered the latter, “and from the way he talked I 
took him for a lunatic that had recently escaped 
from the asylum at Morris Meadows. So I brought 
him home with me, intending to take him over to 
the asylum this morning.” 

“But I still fail to see what all this has to do with 
the prisoner being discovered inside a trunk,” ob- 
jected the justice. 

“ He crept in there himself, thinking thus to es- 
cape from the house,” Bob Manners here interposed, 
adding a brief description of the jdan our hero had 
in view on the occasion. 


170 


EKIC DANE. 


“ And do you still consider him of unsound mind, 
Doctor Hornway?” asked the justice. 

“No, I consider him a thief,” bluntly responded 
the physician. 

“ Then, as you were mistaken in one case,” per- 
sisted the justice, “may it no^ be possible that you, 
sir,” (turning to Rob Manners) “ are at fault in the 
other ? You did not see the prisoner take the money 
from your coat pocket, nor can you swear that the 
bills were exactly the ones you have lost.” 

“No, sir,” rej)lied Manners, frankly. “I cannot.” 

“ Young man,” went on the justice, turning sud- 
denly towards our hero, “ what is your name ? ” 

“Eric Dane.” 

“He is an impostor. Justice Goyle,” interposed 
Mr. Tilbert, stepping forward at this juncture. 
“ That is not his name, but that of my poor cousin 
who was killed in that fearful holocaust on the rail- 
road last Tuesday night. Twice has this fellow 
forced his way into my place at Cedarbrook with an 
assertion of his absurd claim, for the establishment 
of which he can furnish not a shadow of proof. I 
wish now to appeal to the law for protection from 
this nuisance.” 

“ Then there are two charges against the prisoner,” 
remarked the magistrate, in his easy tones, checking 
them off on his fingers, “ theft and false representa- 
tions. Perhaps the investigation of the latter may 
furnish us with more conclusive proof of the former. 
I remember now to have read in the papers the sad 
fate of one Eric Dane, heir to a large property in 
Cedarbrook. Officer, will you bring chairs that we 
may proceed comfortably to a thorough sifting of 
this interesting case.” 


ERIC DANE, 


171 


CHAPTER XXX. 
eric’s claim is considered. 

Mr. John Tilbert was evidently much annoyed at 
the turn affairs had taken. He knew Justice Goyle 
by sight; and from his appearance had doubtless felt 
assured that he was just the sort of magistrate to 
commit an alleged offender to jail at once, deferring 
any particular examination into his case until the 
grand jury met, which would not occur till October. 

The officer having returned with chairs, they all 
seated themselves, and Justice Goyle resumed. 

Mr. Tilbert,” he began, “ you evidently do not 
know this cousin of yours, Eric Dane, by sight, or an 
impostor would be very foolish to endeavor to foist 
himself u]3on you. Am I correct thus far? ” 

“ You are, sir.” 

“Neither did you identify the body of your unfor- 
tunate cousin before giving it burial, which fact this 
claimant must also have known. Is this not true ? ” 
“It is. My cousin was among those who were 
cremated in the last car ? ” 

“What proof have you of the fact?” 

“Proof!” exclaimed Mr. Tilbert. “ Why, I have 
the whole story from the lips of a young man wdth 
whom my lamented cousin became acquainted on the 
train.” 

“ And this young man, where is he now ? ” 

“ That I do not know. He has gone off on a camp- 
ing out trip somewhere in the Maine woods.” 


172 


ERIC DANE. 


“That is unfortunate. I should like to have put 
some questions to him. Did he see this cousin of 
yours actually cut off by the flames ? ” 

“ He was in such danger himself that he has no 
recollection of anything further than seeing the seat 
which he and Eric had occupied together a raging 
mass of fire.” 

“ But why could your cousin not have escaped as 
well as this other young man ? ” 

“ If he had, would he not be apt to have some 
proof to show that he was what he claimed to be ? I 
beg to remind you, Judge Goyle, that my cousin was 
heir to a large fortune, so the temptation to person- 
ate him under the existing circumstances was very 
great.” 

“ Very well ; I should now like to put a few ques- 
tions to the young man himself,” rejoined the mag- 
istrate. Then addressing himself to our hero, he 
continued : “ How does it happen that you have 
nothing to show that you are the individual you 
claim to be ? Have you no letters of introduction, or 
anything of that sort ? ” 

“ I had all those,” replied Eric, “ but they were all 
in the wallet I happened to have in my hand at the 
time the accident occurred, and which I have not 
seen since. I have reason to believe, however, that 
thev are all in the possession of my cousin, Mr. 
Tilbert.” 

“Is that the case, Mr. Tilbert? ” pursued the jus- 
tice. “ Have you the letters and memoranda belong- 
ing to this Eric Dane, who is, you claim, deceased? ” 

Mr. Tilbert hesitated for the fraction of a second, 
and then answered ; “ I have. They were picked up 
by the young man I have already mentioned, and 
brought to me.” 

“ Tlien how could you expect the prisoner to have 
that which was in your own possession ? ” 


EKIC DANE. 


173 


Mr. Tilbert’s cheek paled for an instant, then he 
forced a laugh and answered lightly : “ Oh, of course 
I didn’t expect him to have that which I knew I had 
myself, although, from Mr. Manners’s experience 
with him, I should say he was quite capable of ap- 
propriating it without my knowledge.” 

“ Have you no friends who can identify you ? ” 
went on Justice Goyle, again turning to Eric. 

“None here, unfortunately,” he replied. “The 
Marchmans, with whom I spent Tuesday night, 
sailed the next morning on a yachting cruise for 
Newfoundland.” 

“ That is unfortunate, very, for you,” commented 
the magistrate, in a tone that struck a chill to Eric’s 
heart, that had but just now begun to grow warm 
with hope. 

“ It is of a piece with his lame story of not knowing 
he had that money in his vest pocket,” added Mr. 
Tilbert, somewhat maliciously. 

“There is one other person who could prove the 
truth of what I say,” Eric resumed, hastily. “It is 
Horace McQuillam, the fellow who sat next me in the 
car, and who carried to Mr. Tilbert the news of my 
death. He lives here in South Oxford, where I came 
to find him, but too late.” 

“There it is again,” once more interjected Mr. 
Tilbert. “ There is always something in the way of 
his giving a satisfactory account of himself.” 

“ What caused you to think the prisoner was of 
unsound mind ? ” asked the justice, turning suddenly 
to Doctor Hornway. 

“ Because he said his name was Eric Dane, whose 
death I had read of in the papers,” promptly answered 
the doctor. 

“And now you think he claims the name because 
he is not a lunatic but an impostor ? ” 

“ Exactly.” 


174 


ERIC DANE. 


“ May I say sometliing more ? ” asked Eric, judg- 
ing from a movement of the justice that the latter’s 
mind was about made up. 

“ Certainly, if it is to the point,” was the answer. 

“ Well, if you will send around to the Home 
Market on Maple Street, Mrs. McQuillam, the 
mother of Horace, will tell you that her son has been 
sent away by Mr. Tilbert himself.” 

“ I fail to see the significance of such a piece of evi- 
dence,” said the justice, coldl3% 

“But don’t 3^ou see the object he had in view to 
get all of my witnesses out of my reach, so that he 
may control the whole property himself? ” 

“Eh, what is that you say about controlling prop- 
erty ? ” exclaimed the magistrate. “ Will you profit, 
Mr. Tilbert, by the death of ^mur cousin ? ” 

As he put the question, Justice Gojle looked 
straight at his man. But John Tilbert had nerved 
himself and bore the gaze unflinchingly, as he re- 
plied : “Yes, in a pecuniary sense I will, but that I 
could be base enough to wish my cousin dead for the 
sake of entering upon the possession of his proj^ert}* 
— why, it is folly to even hint at such a thing. Come 
to Cedarbrook and inquire of any member of my 
household whether I did not look forward to the 
coming of my cousin with the greatest pleasure and 
delight, and if the shock occasioned by the announce- 
ment of his death was not a terribl}" severe one. 
Furthermore, I will say that I have been so successful 
in my financial ventures of late as to make it seem 
a still greater absurdity that I should stoop to such 
designs as those with which this thieving tramp 
accuses me. Look at his record and then at mine.” 

Justice Goyle was evidently sorely perplexed. He 
hesitated for a moment before expressing an opin- 
ion, and Mr. Tilbert took advantage of the opportu- 
nity to further bolster up his case. 


ERIC DANE. 


175 


‘‘My own son,” he went on, “came upon him in the 
woods, where he was companying with a common 
tramp, and this morning, when Doctor Hornway 
found him at my place, he knew his case would not 
stand investigation so he turned and ran like a 
coward.” 

To say that Eric’s blood boiled while listening to 
these remarks only feebly expresses his feelings. 

But he gritted his teeth, determined not to risk 
lowering himself in the opinion of the magistrate by 
an exhibition of temper. At the same time he strenu- 
ously strove to avoid an appearance of guilt, and 
stood with his shoulders squared, his shapely head 
thrown back and his fine gray eyes fixed fearlessly 
on his accusers. 

Suddenly a ray of hope shot across his face. 

“Will you ask Doctor Horn way to have his wait- 
ress questioned about that money Mr. Manners 
lost?” 

“Frances !” exclaimed the doctor. “Why, she is 
as honest as the day. Besides, how could she steal 
the money ? She wasn’t alone in the room with the 
pocketbook, as this young rascal who calls himself 
Dane was.” 

“ But she had a chance to go up there while Mr. 
Manners was out on his walk and I was down at 
breakfast,” persisted Eric. “ I remember that Mrs. 
Hornway rang the bell for her three times, and said 
she wondered what had become of her, before she 
answered it.” 

“ Surely, Justice Goyle,” interposed Mr. Tilbert, in 
a tone of vexation, “ this is a very slight foundation 
on which to base so serious a charge. A poor girl’s 
character should not be smirched to gratify a mere 
whim of a cornered scamp.” 

“Mr. Tilbert,” responded the magistrate in mean- 
ing tones, “ you seem strangely eager to cut ofi all 


176 


ERIC DANE. 


avenues of escaiDe for the prisoner. I for my part 
find this a very interesting case, and while I do not 
feel justified in discharging the prisoner, I will not 
commit him fully until this matter of the servant 
has been investigated. Meantime I will adjourn the 
hearing until Monday morning.” 


EBTC DANE. 


177 


CHAPTEK XXXL 

AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION. 

As soon as Justice Goyle had announced his inten- 
tion of postponing a decision on the case, Eob Man- 
ners crossed the room, and, putting a hand on Eric’s 
shoulder, said earnestly: “I begin to think we have 
been mistaken, but rest assured I will see that strict 
justice is done the girl as well as yourself. The 
fact of your running away from Mr. Tilbert’s is an 
unfortunate one, but if you are cleared from this 
other charge, no one will be more ready than I to 
take your part.” 

‘‘Thank you,” replied Eric, adding : “Perhaps it 
was foolish for me to bolt that way, but Mr. Tilbert 
had told his men to seize me, and I was afraid he 
was going to lock me up somewhere on the prem- 
ises, where I wouldn’t have the chance to get tLe 
hearing I have had today.” 

“ Well, I hope from the bottom of my heart, you 
will come out all right,” returned Manners. “ In 
which case I will have a heavy pardon to ask.” 

“Come, Kobert,” called Doctor Hornway. “Mr. 
Tilbert is waiting for us.” 

The next instant our hero was left alone with the 
magistrate and the officer. 

The former had risen from his desk and taken his 
hat from the closet at his left. 

“ Officer Locke,” he said, “ I will be answerable for 
this young man’s appearance here on Monday. 


178 


EKIC DANE. 


Come,” lie added, turning to Eric, ‘‘ I want you to 
come home with me.” 

It would be hard to say which was the more aston- 
ished, the officer or our hero, on being made aware 
of this intention on the part of the magistrate. 

“ But I thought, sir,” the former ventured to 
remonstrate, “ that he was to be lodged in a cell 
here in the jail. There’s a very nice one, sir, next 
to the young fellow that’s up for assault.” 

“Officer Locke,” thundered the magistrate, “I 
have stated that I intend taking this young man 
home with me.” 

So saying. Justice Groyle, who was short in stature, 
thrust his arm through that of Eric and walked with 
him out of the building. 

“ This is very kind of you, sir,” began Eric. “ I 
am hardly fit, though, to go into a gentleman’s 
house. I walked all the way from Cedarbrook, and 
as Mr. Tilbert has my trunk ” 

“ I understand exactly what’s wanted,” interposed 
the justice. “ A whisk broom, a visit to the bath 
room, and some fresh linen, with all of which you 
can be provided. My family is away from home, so 
we will have the house to ourselves, at which, by the 
way, we are now arrived.” 

Opening the gate before a large frame house, with 
a square tower at one end, the justice led the way 
up to the front door, through which he ushered our 
hero with as much politeness as though the latter 
was a specially invited guest. 

“ Come up stairs with me, where I think I can fit 
you with some linen of my own. You look to be 
well grown for youi* age,” and stepping into a hand- 
somely furnished room at the head of the stairway, 
the magistrate selected a shirt, collar and cuffs, from 
a stock in the bureau drawer, and handed them to 
our hero. 


EEIC DANE. 


179 


“ Here is the bath room,” he furthermore ex- 
plained, leading the way to the other end of the 
passage. “ You will find every convenience for 
dressing here. I regret that the circumstances will 
compel me to lock you in, but I think you are sensi- 
ble enough to understand the necessities of the case. 
If I return here in half an hour, will you be ready 
to go down with me to my study, where we can have 
a talk?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Eric; whereupon the justice 
transferred the key from the inside to the outside of 
the bath room door and withdrew. 

“ Well, this is decidedly preferable to a ‘ dungeon 
cell,’ ” murmured our hero, as he heard the lock 
snap, “ and I dare say I am an especially favored 
prisoner. I wonder what made this queer old mag- 
istrate take such a fancy to me ! It’s about time, 
though, somebody began to range himself on my 
side. It’s strange I didn’t think about that servant 
at the Hornways’ before. Now for a good wash.” 

Thirty minutes later, when Justice Goyle tapped 
at the door, Eric announced himself as ready, and 
then expressed his deep obligations for the privi- 
leges that had been accorded him. 

“Oh, that’s all right,” returned the justice, dis- 
missing the subject with a wave of the hand. “Now 
I want you to tell me your whole story. Begin with 
the railroad accident.” 

They had taken seats in a room on the ground 
floor, which was Eric’s ideal of a thoroughly home- 
like apartment, with its cheerful carpet, deep bay 
window, with a cushioned seat running all around 
it, a half dozen easy chairs, and a bookcase filled 
with volumes looking, every one of them, as though 
they had been read. 

Amid these comfortable surroundings our hero 

told his tale to the magistrate as it has been told in 


180 


ERIC DANE. 


these pages to the reader. It required some time to 
do it, and before he reached the end the maid came 
in to light the gas. But Justice Goyl6 listened with 
close attention throughout, nodding his head now 
and then to show his appreciation of a point, and 
sometimes asking a question. 

“ Well,” he said, when Eric had finished, “ your 
claim is a good one, but your record is bad. Now, 
don’t misunderstand me. It may be only your mis- 
fortune, but it does seem a pity that you could not 
tackle this Tilbert freed from such hindrances as 
this unfortunate affair at Doctor Hornway’s.” 

Eric wanted to ask whether Justice Goyle believed 
that he really stole that money, but decided that 
under the circumstances it would hardly be the 
thing to do. 

Supper was now announced, and Eric and the 
magistrate took seats, one at either -end of a well 
spread table. 

“ I wonder he isn’t afraid I may take it into my 
head to bolt,” our hero could not helj) refiecting 
once or twice. 

But the justice did not appear to worry himself on 
that score, and talked pleasantly of England, which, 
it seemed, he had visited the previous summer. 

“Now, I dare say you are tired after your long 
walk,” he said, shortly after they had adjourned to 
the library, “so I will show you to your room at 
once.” 

Eric was in truth quite worn out, and when he was 
left alone — of course locked in — in a pleasant room 
opposite the magistrate’s own, he prepared for bed 
immediately. 

Sleep, too, came speedily, and with it dreams of 
vindication and happy times with Fred Marchman. 
In one of them they seemed to be playing together 
in a game of football. Eric had tripped with the ball 


ERIC DANE. 


181 


in his arms, and three or four of his opponents, who 
were trying to collar him, had fallen over him. 

The pressure awakened Eric finally, and he opened 
his eyes to find the Cedarbrook tramp bending over 
him. 


182 


EKIC DANE. 


CHAPTER XXXn. 

A MIDNIGHT INTERVIEW. 

“ So it’s you, is it ? ” 

The tramp had placed his heavy hands on Eric’s 
wrists, and thus pinned him helplessly to the bed. 
Then putting his repulsive face down close to that 
of our hero, he surveyed him triumphantly in the 
moonlight. 

“ What are you doing here ? ” asked Eric, sinking 
back after a few ineffectuiil struggles to escape from 
the iron grip that held him fast. 

“ I’m goin’ ter make you open the door for me.” 

“ What door ? ” inquired Eric, striving to gain 
time to try and think of what he would do. 

“ The door to this room. Yer knows werry well 
what I means,” retorted the tramp, with an emphasiz- 
ing pressure on the boy’s wrists. Come, fork over 
the key. I don’t see what yer wanted ter take it out 
of the lock fer anyhow.” 

“I didn’t take it out. You ought to know where 
it is, as you came in after I did.” 

“ None of your imperdance, young feller. I didn’t 
come in that way, but if you don’t give up that key 
so I can get out by it. I’ll — well, your throat is 
mighty tender and soft, and my hands — yer kin feel 
fer yersilf how hard they be, so the two wouldn’t 
make a pretty match of it, would they now ? ” 

Eric shuddered in spite of himself. He knew from 
experience that the nian wa^ both cruel and reckless, 


ERIC DANE. 


183 


caring little wliat were the consequences to himself 
so long as his revengeful desires were gratified. 

Our hero had thought of shouting for help, hut 
the peculiar circumstances under which he had be- 
come the magistrate’s guest made him hesitate be- 
fore resorting to this course. Would not the justice 
think that he had admitted the tramp to the house 
in spite of all ? He had doubtless not forgotten Mr. 
Tilbert’s mention of that scene in the woods. 

If he could only capture the fellow in some way 
and then summon the household ! As it was, the 
chances were that should Eric raise an alarm the 
man would escape before anybody could reach the 
room, and our hero would then be obliged to make 
some awkward explanations. 

Suddenly his mind reverted to the tramp’s asser- 
tion that he had not come in by the door. How then 
had the fellow made his way into the room ? 

“ How did you get in ? ” he inquired. 

“You’d like ter know now, wouldn’t yer ? ” re- 
turned the other, tauntingly. “ Yer thought yer was 
all safe from such fellers as me when yer locked yer 
door. But I’m here, up on end, all the same. Now 
are yer goin’ ter fork over that ’ere key, or do yer 
want me ter begin a little accorjeon playin’ on that 
neck o’ yourn ? ” 

“ I tell you I haven’t got the key and couldn’t 
open the door if I wanted to,” exclaimed Eric in as 
loud a tone as he dared use. “ If you don’t go off 
now the way you came whatever it was. I’ll ” 

“Oh no, you won’t holler, my precious,” inter- 
rupted the tramp, “fer as soon as I see that daisy 
little mouth o’ yours open wider than just so far. I’ll 
begin to play that accorjeon tune that’s so very soft 
that there ain’t no noise at all to it. But what’s that 
’ere door doin’ locked ef you ain’t got the key to 
it?” 


m 


EBIC DANE. 


“Because it’s locked on the outside,” answered 
Eric, promptly, putting on a bold front. “Now you 
see how useless it is for you to waste your time 
around here.” 

“ Then somebody’s fastened you in, has he ? ” mut- 
tered the tramp. “What’s that for? Are you so 
precious to ’em they’re afraid somebody’ll run off 
with you, or that you’ll run off with the silver? 
What do you mean by it, eh? Here you’ve come 
brought me into a purty scrape,” and the fellow shook 
Eric until the bed slats rattled. 

“ I brought you into a scrape ? ” repeated the lat- 
ter, as soon as he was allowed to speak. “ Why 
what have I got to do with it? Did I ask you to 
come here ? Indeed, if I’d known what you had in 
view, Td have warned you to keep away with the 
greatest pleasure in the world.” 

Eric spoke lightly, but at the same time, as may be 
readily imagined, he was in anything but a comfort- 
able frame of mind. What if Justice Goyle should 
overhear the talking and come in to discover our 
hero’s companion ? 

“ Look here ? ” he went on, eagerly, “ if you’ll go 
away quietly now without taking anything, I won’t 
say a word about your having been here.” 

“ But how am I goin’ ter get away ? ” the tramp 
wanted to know. 

“ The same way you came, of course,” answered 
Eric, adding, as a sudden thought struck him : “You 
haven’t been here ever since yesterday afternoon, 
have you ? Hid under the bed or in the closet ? ” 

“No, I’d only been here long enough to find that 
blamed door locked when you woke up.” 

“But how then did you get in, and what on earth’s 
to prevent you’re getting out the same way?” per- 
sisted Ericc 

“ Ssh ! Don’t talk so loud,” cautioned the tramp. 


EEIO DANE. 


185 


Then releasing his hold on the boy’s wrists, he con- 
tinued ; “Come here to the winder and I’ll show 
you.” 

Thankful to be released from the confinement of 
his position, Eric rose with ready acquiescence, and 
slipping on some of his clothes, accompanied the 
tramp to one of the many windows with which the 
room was provided. 

“ Yer see that tree,” whispered the man, pointing 
to a tall horse chestnut that stood near the house, 
“an’ how that ’ere branch reaches over nearly to 
this winder?” 

“ Yes,” assented Eric. “ But you never could have 
jumped from that into the room here.” 

“Who said I did, young feller ? But I did jump 
from as far out on the end of it as I da’st go, to the 
roof of that ’ere bay winder. Then it didn’t take 
much to put my paws on this here winder sill and 
swing myself up inter the room. An’ now do yer 
see wdiy I can’t go back — if I wanted ter, which I 
don’t say as I do — the way I came ? ” 

“But can’t you let yourself down from the top of 
the bay window?” Eric suggested. 

“ Maybe I could, and sprain my ankle a doin’ of it,” 
returned the tramp, scornfully. “I mayn’t be as 
good lookin’ as you, young feller ” — at this point he 
chucked Eric under the chin in an odiously familiar 
fashion — “nor have a skin so nice and soft, but I 
guess I could manage to feel a bump like that. Come, 
quick now, think of some way fer me ter get out of 
this. ’Tain’t so long till mornin’.” 

In spite of its serious bearing on his own fortunes, 
Eric could not but reflect on the ridiculous side of 
the situation — the idea of a would be burglar asking 
his advice as to the best method of leaving the] rem- 
ises. But as he was . as anxious to get rid of him as 
the tramp was to go, he tried hard to think of some 


186 


ERIC DANE. 


means by wbich he could get his midnight visitor off 
his hands without arousing Justice Goyle or the ser- 
vants. 

“ Can’t yer yell out that yer sick or somethin’ and 
git them ter open the door ? ” suggested the tramp. 
“ I can hide somewheres till the folks goes off, and 
then slip down stairs and out of the front door.” 

“ Yes, and pocket a lot of the silver on the way,” 
said Eric, beginning to put on the rest of his cloth- 
ing, for the window was open and the night was 
chilly. 

“ No, I pledge yer my word,” began the tramp, 
when Eric impatiently interrupted him. 

“ Your word ? ” he exclaimed. “ Do you think I 
would trust a man like you for the eighth part of a 
second ? And if I hadn’t good reasons of my own 
for not doing so, I wouldn’t hesitate a minute before 
giving the alarm. You haven’t told me yet what you 
came here for. It was to steal, wasn’t it ? ” 

Eric had just finished putting on his coat as he 
asked the question, and now stood opposite the 
window, in the full i3lay of the moonlight, looking 
fixedly at the ragged, hard featured man who had 
seated himself on a chair by the bureau. He gazed 
back silently for an instant at the boy, then gave a 
faint cry, or rather gasp, and dropped his head upon 
his hands. 

Eric stared at the spectacle in undisguised wonder. 
What had come over the fellow ? 

He advanced a step or two nearer the bowed figure, 
and w^ent on in the subdued undertone they had both 
been using : “ Are you repenting now, when you are 

caught like a rat in a trap ? But I won’t be mean 
enough to taunt a fallen foe, even such a one as 
you.” 

“ Oh, don’t don’t speak to me like that,” exclaimed 
the tramp, quickly. 


EKIC DAISE. 


187 


His tone was in startling contrast to that in which 
our hero had hitherto heard him speak. His face, 
too, had taken oh an entirely new expression, and it 
seemed to Eric as though tears were coursing their 
way down the unshaven cheeks. 

“Still I can’t blame you for despising me,” this 
very queer personage continued, in the same gentle 
voice ; “but j^erhaps you will understand why I feel 
it so, and have a little pity for me when you hear my 
story. AVill you let me tell it to you ? ” 


188 


ERIC DANE. 


CHAPTEE XXXm. 

A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 

Eric had been amazed when he awoke from that 
dream and found the tramp leaning over him, but 
now he was positively astonished, when he heard that 
same unkempt, rough speaking individual address 
him in the manner recorded at the close of the pre- 
ceding chapter. 

Before he could concentrate his mind sufficiently 
on the new order of things to frame an answer, the 
tramp had risen, placed a chair directly in front of 
the window, and then, drawing up the one he had 
himself occupied, he continued : “ Won’t you please 

sit down, right here in the moonlight, where I can 
see your face and imagine it is that of my little boy, 
who, it somehow seems to me, would have looked as 
you do, had he lived? ” 

“ But this is no time to listen to stories,” Eric at 
length found voice to answer. “ Somebody may 
overhear you talking, and you will be discovered.” 

“ Let them take me, then. I care not what becomes 
of me, once I have Avon your pity. But what I have 
to say Avill not take long to tell. It is only the old, 
old story of drink desolating a happy home, breaking 
a wife’s heart, and so leaving a little child mother- 
less. How I idolized that boy, no words of mine can 
express ; and when we Avere left alone together, he 
and I, I broke loose from the enslaving demon that 
had held me fast, and vowed I would be a free man 


ERIC BANE. 


189 


for his sake. For five years I kept my vow. I moved 
to a distant Western city, where my boy and I lived 
in a happy companionship, the memory of which 
should have remained with me as a sacred legacy to 
keep me pure all my life. But at the end of those 
five years, when my boy was j ust ten, he fell sick and 
died, and since then I have been what you see me 
now.” 

The man paused for an instant, and seemed fairly 
to devour our hero with the earnestness of his gaze. 
He did not speak, and the tramp resumed : 

“ After I had buried my beautiful boy out of my 
sight forever, I felt that I had nothing left on earth 
to live for, took to drink again with a sort of ghastly 
glee, caring for nought but something in which to 
drown my sorrow. I was a doctor by profession, and 
naturally soon lost all my practice by my wild course. 
My property was next swept away, all but a hundred 
dollars or so I saved to bury me beside my boy when 
I die. I’ve got it safe here,” tapping his breast, 
“ hung from about my neck, with a letter of direc- 
tions addressed to whoever finds my body. No temp- 
tation of hunger, cold, or longing for liquor, has 
been strong enough to induce me to break into it.” 

“ But I should think you would have been robbed 
of it,” said Eric, who was more affected by the stor^^ 
than he cared to show. “If you have led the life 
of a tramp very long ” 

“ Six years,” interrupted the other, “ and any com- 
panions I. have had, have respected my muscle too 
highly to attempt an appropriation of any of my 
property. But I have never mingled with them 
much, and whenever I have undertaken any business 
like that of tonight, I have always been alone.” 

“ Have you ever stolen anything? ” Eric ventured 
to inquire. He thought the answer might be taken 
as a test of the other’s sincerity. 


190 


EEIC DANE. 


“ No, never a penny’s worth. Perhaps you do not 
believe me, but I assure you such is the fact. Indeed 
this is only the second time I have entered a house 
in this burglarious fashion. The first was last Wednes- 
day, when you found me in the cottage in Cedar- 
brook. I did it more for the excitement that brings 
forgetfulness of my grief than for purposes of plun- 
der. Now do you believe my story and pity me, 
and will you sometimes think of me, not as I am, but 
as I would have been had my boy lived? ” 

It was certainly a strange scene, sitting up at the 
dead of night hearing the confessions of a burglar. 
But Eric felt instinctively that the man had opened 
his real heart to him. His sudden change to a re- 
fined manner of speech was proof positive in itself 
that he had once been a gentleman. 

Conquering his aversion to the present repulsive 
appearance of the man, Eric now put out his hand 
and replied : 

“Yes, Ido believe and pity you, and shall try to 
forget that I ever looked upon you in any other light. 
But why won’t you, for the sake of the memory of 
your boy, give up this life you are leading ? I will 
help you to get away safely — I have just thought of 
a plan — and I want you to promise that you will do 
differently from now on.” 

The tramp seized the hand held out to him with 
both his own, and answered solemnly : “I will. 
Since this confession tonight I have become a hor- 
ror to myself. The scales seem to have fallen from 
my eyes, and I now see the folly of my course as I 
neyer thought I should in this world. But I must 
go, for if I am discovered I feel that that discovery 
will in some way compromise you. Now for your 
plan.” 

Eric could not but be surprised at the altered 
manner of the man before him. His eye was now 


ERIC DANE. 


191 


lit up by hope, bis shoulders thrown back and liis 
whole aspect in striking contrast to the stolid, al- 
most brutal one of a few moments previous. Such 
is the transformation capable of being wrought in 
the outward appearance by inward determination. 

“If I take the spread from my bed and twist it 
into the shape of a rope, do you think you could 
lower yourself by it from the roof of the bay window 
to the ground?” 

Our hero had suddenly recollected the device he 
had used for the sake of appearances at the Horn- 
ways’, and thought that perhaps it might be made of 
practical service in the present instance. 

“But there is nothing to fasten it to out there,” 
objected the tramp. 

“Ill hold you,” replied Eric, promptly. 

“But you can’t. I weigh over a hundred and 
eighty pounds.” 

“No matter, I’m pretty strong, and we can get a 
leverage on the edge of the roof. I’ll show you,” 
and whipping the spread from the bed, Eric took it 
to the window and vaulted lightly out. 

“ See,” he said, “ that will let you down far enough 
so you can easily drop to the ground.” 

The tramp noiselessly took his place beside him, 
measured the distance with his eye, and answered : 
“ Yes, I’ll risk it.” 

The room to which Eric had been assigned was 
situated ip the rear of the house, so that there was 
no possibility of their movements being observed by 
any chance passer by on the street. 

“ Grood by. Ill never forget you, nor my promise,” 
said the tramp the next moment. Then, letting him- 
self over the edge of the roof, he hung by one hand 
till he had caught a good grip of the spread with 
the other. 

“Lower away,” he called softly to Eric. 


192 


EKIO DANE. 


The latter allowed the spread to slip through his 
hands inch by inch, till he reached the end. 

“That’s all,” he whispered as loud as he dared. 

“ All right,” was the reply from over the edge of 
the roof, and at the same instant the weight at the 
end of the improvised rope was removed. 

Eric should have been prepared for this, but he 
was wondering at the moment whether it was possi- 
ble that they v/ere observed. He staggered back- 
'wards, one foot was over the side of the roof, and 
the next second he fell down, down, and then, merci- 
fully, he knew nothing, felt nothing more. 


ERIC DANE. 


193 


CHAPTEE XXXIV. 

THE CABIN IN THE WOODS. 

When Eric again awoke to consciousness, liis sur- 
roundings were all so strange that for the first few 
moments he knew not whether it was a coming back 
to life in this world, or his introduction into that of 
another. 

He was lying on a bed in a room which was the 
greatest possible contrast to the one he had lately 
occupied at Justice Goyle’s. There was neither 
plaster on the walls nor carpet on the floor, and the 
one window which was within his range of vision had 
but a single whole pane of glass among the four of 
which it was composed. But a fire burned brightly 
on the hearth, and a flood of golden autumn sun- 
shine filled the homely apartment. 

Eric started to raise himself on his elbow to gain 
a more extended view, but fell back with a gasp of 
pain. He then discovered that his left arm was in 
splints, and hung from his neck in a sling. This 
brought back the recollection of his fall from the 
top of the bay window. 

But it was in vain that he tried to bridge over the 
gap between that event and the present moment. 

Whose house was this, where was it situated, and 
how had he been brought there? 

All he could see of the outside world through the 
window was the trunks of trees and the rounded top 
of a bush or two. There was not a sound to be heard 


194 


ERIC DANE. 


save the crackling of the brushwood fire and the 
song of a cheerful robin, perched on the window 
sill. 

I must have broken my arm,” mused Eric. It’s 
a wonder I didn’t break my back or my neck. But 
how did I get here, and what sort of a place is it ? ” 

Carefully he raised himself to a sitting posture, 
and gazed around him. And the first objects on 
which his eyes fell caused him increased astonish- 
ment, for there, close by the bed stood a table neatly 
spread with a snow white cloth and containing a 
breakfast service of sugar bowl, cream- pitcher, nap- 
kin, cup and saucer. 

“I wonder if that’s meant for me,” thought Eric. 
“ It looks =so, so here goes. I feel as hollow as a 
pneumatic tube,” and stretching out his hand, he 
took a lump of sugar from the bowl and began to 
crunch it hungrily. 

Evidently attracted by the noise this made, some 
one entered the room from an adjoining one through 
a doorwa}^ at the head of the bed. 

The next moment Eric paused with his hand out- 
stretched a second time toward the sugar bowl, and 
looked up to see a gentleman standing in front of 
him, whom at the first glance he took to be an utter 
stranger. 

“I was so hungry,” he said, half apologetically, 
“ that I had to begin on sugar.” 

“I should rather expect you would be hungry,” 
was the reply, “and I’ll hurry up a more substantial 
breakfast for you.” 

Before Eric could get a chance to put one of the 
many questions he wanted to ask, the gentleman had 
disappeared. 

But Eric had had time to recognize in him the 
former tramp, not by his appearance, but by his 
voice. If he had not spoken our hero felt that it was 


EKIC DANE. 


195 


long odds that he would not have had the faintest 
clew to his identity. 

His chin was clean shaven, he had a becoming 
mustache, his hair had been cut and — it is needless 
to add — ‘his face and hands washed. He was dressed 
in a neat suit of black, while, judging from the hasty 
glance Eric had been able to bestow on it, his linen 
was irreproachable. 

“How has he found time to make such a hasty 
transformation in himself since last night?” our hero 
wondered. “ It can’t be much more than ten o’clock 
now, and besides, today is Sunday, when he wouldn’t 
be able to buy anything.” 

But Eric’s thoughts were now deflected into a more 
selfish channel by the reappearance of the late tramp 
with a cup of coffee and a most tempting bit of 
broiled steak. 

“Now, my boy, fall to,” he said, as he placed the 
dishes on the table, drew the latter close up to the 
bed, and cut the meat in small pieces. “ I’ll bring 
the fried potatoes and omelette right in.” 

Eric didn’t stop to do any wondering, but picking- 
up the fork proceeded to fortify the inner man 
against anj^ calls the unknown future might make 
upon it. 

“ That’s right ; you’re coming on famously,” ex- 
claimed the metamorphosed knight of the road, en- 
tering with the .rest of the breakfast. “ And now I’m 
going to sit down and comfortably enjoy the specta- 
cle of your rapid convalescence. But stay, does your 
arm pain you any ? ” 

“ Yes, some. What’s the matter with it ? Did I 
break it in that fall ? ” 

“ No, but you came very near it.” 

“ But how did I get here ? AVhose house is this ? 
And — and oh, there’s lots I want to know, for I can’t 
remember a thing that happened after I fell off that 


196 


ERIC DANE. 


roof. I must have had a narrow escape from being 
killed outright.” 

“ That you had. It was only a box bush that 
saved j^ou. There was one growing close beside that 
bay window, and you fell plump on top of it.” 

“And what happened then? Did I make any 
noise ? Did anybody in the house come to the win- 
dows ? ” 

“ Not a soul. I saw jou fall, and tried to catch 
you, but was just too late.” 

“You haven’t told me yet, though, how I got here 
and whose house this is, and to whom I am indebted 
for this splendid breakfast.” 

“Well, as to how you got here, I carried you like 
a baby in my arms. You were unconscious, of course, 
but I knew at once that your arm was sprained, and 
I determined to bring you out to this cabin and doc- 
tor you up myself, as it was my fault that you came 
to need the doctoring. The shanty belonged to an 
old hermit for whom I used to do a friendly turn 
now and then, and on whom I waited when he was 
very sick last month. His son came and took him to 
his own home out West, but before he went he gave 
me the key of this tumble down old place, and leave 
to live here if I wanted to. So here I brought you, 
and have felt like a new man ever since I had a bo^^ 
again to care for and wait upon.” 

“But where ” Eric paused in some embarrass- 

ment, with his eyes roving from the other’s clothes 
to the well spread table. 

“ Oh, of course you want to know how it was pos- 
sible for a poor tramp to do even the, little that has 
been done. That is easily explained since you al- 
ready know about that burial fund I have been 
carrying about with me for so long. Well, now that 
I have determined to turn over a new leaf, it will be 
no longer necessary for me to save it.” 


EKIC DANE. 


197 


“I am as grateful as I can be for all you’ve done 
for me. My name is Eric Dane, and I hope some 
day to be able to ” 

“No, don’t talk of setiliug scores with Philip 
Blendford. He owes you more than he can ever in 
his life repay. Your being now so well and cheerful, 
after lying there all day yesterday in that strange 
stupor, is ” 

“ All day yesterday ! ” exclaimed Eric, in a horror 
stricken voice. 

“Why, yes; didn’t you know that today was Mon- 
day? How else did you think I would have been 
able to buy these clothes, dishes, and so on?” 

“ And what time is it now ? ” 

“Well, I should say it was about eleven o’clock.” 

“Then the case has come on, and Justice Goyle 
will have no more doubts about my having taken 
that money.” 

“Taken money?” ejaculated Philip Blendford in 
amazement. “You a thief!’' and the tone in which 
the word was spoken was one which Eric never 
forgot. 


198 


ERIC DANE. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE CALL OF HONOR. 

‘‘I MUST go to South Oxford at once/\Eric went on 
after an instant. “ How far is it ? ” and he started 
to leave the bed so hurriedly that he gave his in- 
jured arm a wrench and was forced to fall back with 
a cry of pain. 

“There, there, my boy,” said Philip Blendford, 
gently. “I will help you all I can to set matters 
right, if you will only lie quiet and explain what the 
trouble is.” 

“But how can I lie quiet when I have as good as 
broken bail, repaid Justice Goyle’s kind heartedness 
with what must seem to him gross ingratitude, and 
very likely made it impossible for me to prove my 
right to my own name? I mud see what can be 
done.” 

“ Then I will go with you. Pll help you into your 
clothes, and you can do your explaining as we go 
along. It’s only a little over a mile to the town, and 
I think we can get there before noon.” 

Fifteen minutes later, Eric, leaning on the arm of 
the man who had but a few days before caused him 
such disquietude, issued from the cabin, looking 
very pale, and walking at first with tottering steps. 

But the bright sunshine was invigorating, the air 
was fresh and full of tonic, and gradually our hero’s 
strength returned to him. Meanwhile he told Doctor 
Blendford his story, beginning with the railroad ac- 


EKIC DANE. 


199 


cident and ending with his going home with the 
magistrate on Saturday night. 

“ And now how am I to explain matters to him ? 
he concluded. 

Leave that to me,” said Doctor Blendford. “ I 
was the cause of the misfortune, and with me should 
rest the responsibility of repairing the damage 
done.” 

“ But I do not want you to get yourself into dif- 
ficulties on my account,” Went on Eric. ‘‘ They will 
of course want you to explain why you entered the 

magistrate’s house, and then you ” 

. “Will state the facts of the case and be ready to 
accept the consequences,” finished the other. “ My 
new leaf wouldn’t be worth much if it wasn’t stout 
enough to hold out against the tests to which the 
weaknesses of the old ones are sure to subject it. 
But here we are at the town. Where shall we go ? 
To Justice Goyle’s residence, or the court house?” 

“ Oh, to the court house,” responded Eric at once 
“ See, the clock on that steeple points to only half 
past eleven. You must have been mistaken when 
you told me the time, and perhaps the case hasn’t 
come on yet.” 

“ I could only guess at the hour, and am very glad 
to find I was so far out on the right side.” 

“ There’s Mr. Tilbert now,” exclaimed Eric the 
next moment. 

They had come in sight of the building where our 
hero’s examination had taken place on Saturday. 
There, sure enough, stood Mr. Tilbert’s buggy at the 
door, while Mr. Tilbert himself, a smile of triumph 
on his usually impassive countenance, was crossing 
the sidewalk toward it. 

Eric and his companion quickened their steps and 
reached the spot just as the gentleman from Cedar- 
brook was about to enter his carriage. 


200 


EEIO DANE. 


“ Mr. Tilbert ! ” called out our hero. 

The other turned, and the look of mingled wrath 
and disappointment that instantly succeeded to the 
one of triumph, was not lost on either of the new 
comers. 

“ Umph ! So you’ve turned up at last, have you, 
you young jail breaker?” he muttered. “And 
damaged your arm in making your escape, eh ? ” he 
added, as his glance fell on the sling. 

“Does it seem reasonable to suppose that if I had 
deliberately broken jail, I should come back here to 
present myself before Justice Goyle?” And Eric 
squared his shoulders in so far as his disabled arm 
would permit, and looked his cousin straight in the 
eye. Then he turned quickly, and entered the build- 
ing with his new found friend. 

The magistrate was seated alone at his desk, and 
started perceptibly when he saw his visitors. Eric, 
however, did not give him an opportunity to speak 
his mind, but began at once : 

“Am I in time for that examination. Justice 
Goyle? I can easily imagine what you must think 
of me, and how very black my character must now 
look in your eyes ; but I have come to ask you if 3 0U 
will hear my story before you judge me.” 

“ I do not expect Dr. Hornway until noon,” replied 
the magistrate, gravely, adding, as his eye rested on 
the sling : “ I see you have been hurt. Will 3^ou be 
seated while you explain matters ? ” 

Eric gladly sank into the nearest chair, while 
Blendford took his place beside him like a guardian 
spirit. 

“ I need not say I was surprised,” went on the 
justice, in his peculiar voice, “ when I discovered 
that you were not in that room yesterday morning, 
and afterwards found the knotted spread and other 
evidences of the manner in which your escape had 


ERIC DANE. 


201 


been effected. But I would like to say that I was 
deeply pained to feel that my confidence had been 
so sadly misplaced. Then, again, I say nothing be- 
yond mentioning the fact that I had become person- 
ally responsible for your appearance here this morn- 
ing. Now for your explanation, if you please.” 

Thereupon Blendford interposed with : “ I am 

solely responsible, sir, for the circumstances that 
have placed him in such an unfortunate light. I 
entered your house by the second story window, 
found the door locked on the outside, and was won 
from my original intention by this young man, who 
then undertook to assist me in making my escape 
from the roof of the bay window. In doing so, he 
lost his balance and fell to the ground, and had it 
not been for the box bush he would undoubtedly 
have sustained serious injuries. As it was, he 
sprained his arm, and as I did not care to have the 
family disturbed, and at that time knew nothing of 
the circumstances under which he had become an 
inmate of your home, I picked him up — for he was 
unconscious — and carried him otf to a cabin in the 
woods where I sometimes stay. And from that time 
until about an hour ago he remained insensible.” 

“This is a most extraordinary story,” ejaculated 
the magistrate, as Blendford paused. “ Doubly as- 
tonishing since you come here and tell it yourself, 
which fact, perhaps it is unnecessary for me to add, 
goes a great way toward convincing me of its truth. 
You are prepared, I suppose, to pay the penalty for 
housebreaking.” 

“I am,” replied Blendford, firmly. “But Eric 
Dane here, I hope he ” 

“ He must still meet the charge preferred against 
him by Mr. Robert Manners,” interrupted the justice, 
adding, as a step was heard in the hall : “ and here 
is that gentleman himself, come to press it.” 


202 


EKIC DANE. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

ON THE TKAIL AGAIN. 

No, not to press, but to withdraw it,” exclaimed 
Manners, walking up to Eric and shaking him heart- 
ily by the hand. 

“ Have you found the [money, then ? ” cried our 
hero, joyfully. 

“ Yes, as soon as Frances was accused of taking it 
she broke down and confessed. She said she wanted 
it for a good purpose and had never stolen before, 
which were certainly both poor excuses enough ; but 
because of her promptness to confess and as a favor 
to my aunt, I have decided not to prosecute the 
girl. But what has happened to your arm, Eric? ” 

“My fortunes have taken another turn at sporting 
with me as if I was a football,” answered our hero, 
with a faint smile. “ Before I was fairly out of one 
predicament I have been plunged into another.” 

“Well, as I promised you on Saturday, I’m ready 
now to stick by you through thick and thin. What 
is it this time ? Another attack on your character 
by Tilbert ? ” 

“ No, I think that might be more easily disposed 
of,” responded Eric. Then, as Justice Goyle was 
engaged in conversation with Blendford, he told 
Manners the whole story. 

“Jove,” muttered the latter, on its conclusion, 
“you are in a fix, aren’t you ? But to think of that 


ERIC DANE. 


203 


queer old duffer of a magistrate taking you home 
with him ! I’m mighty glad he did it, though, for it 
saved you from being jailed,” 

“ I almost wish now he’d let me stay here,” inter- 
jected Eric. “ Then I couldn’t have got into this 
scrape. I seem to be a fearful blunderer, some way. 
Do you think I ought to have roused up the magis- 
trate when I found the tramp in the room?” 

“ Well, I don’t know that I would have done it if 
I had been in your place myself ; but it seems, as 
things have turned out, that that would have been 
the wiser course.” 

“ Then Doctor Blendford would probably have 
been a tramp still, so that’s one consolation I can 
have fordoing just as I did,” said Eric resignedly. 
Then he added : “ Did you meet Mr. Tilbert in his 

buggy just now ? ” 

“ No ; was he here ? ” 

Yes, I met him just as I came in, and he looked 
terribly disappointed when he saw I’d turned up. 
But think of him going to the expense of sending 
that McQuillam fellow off to the Maine woods ! ” 

“I don’t believe he sent him there at all,” said 
Manners. “ He’s just given out that he’s away off 
there, so that his family can’t communicate with 
him and so be able to give his address to you.” 

“Where do you think he is, then?” asked Eric, 
eagerly. 

“ Well, I shouldn’t be surprised if he had sent him 
off with his boys to some place near by. You see, 
he evidently hoped to have you jailed or frightened 
out of the neighborhood in the course of a few days.” 

At this point in the conversation. Justice Goyle 
beckoned to Eric. 

“ It is all right,” he said, “ you need not wait any 
longer. Relatives of my wife live in that Western 
town where Doctor Blendford used to practice, and 


EKIC DANE. 


20'i 

now that he has told me his story, I remember hear- 
ing them speak of the case. Of course the strictly 
legal course for you to pursue would have been to 
call me ; but so much good has evidently come out 
of the matter as it stands— excepting your sprained 
arm — that I do not feel disposed to find fault. I 
suppose now you will wish to see Mr. Tilbert. Doctor 
Blendford I am going to keep with me for a few 
days.” 

“Now, Eric, I want to fulfill the promise I made to 
you before that unlucky pocket book incident. But, 
by Jove, if I haven’t forgotten to give you back the 
money,” and Bob Manners, who had come forward to 
learn the magistrate’s decision, plunged both hands 
into his pockets. 

“There,” he said, extending a crisp five dollar bill 
to our hero, “you see I was the thief after all ; but if 
you’ll promise not to prosecute. I’ll ferret out that 
McQuillam’s hiding place for you, if it takes me all 
the fall.” 

Eric laughed, and then introduced Manners to 
Blendford. The latter manifested some anxiety as 
to the welfare of Eric’s arm, but our hero declared 
that he hadn’t thought of it for the last half hour, 
so that it must be decidedly better. 

“Oh, I’ll see that he doesn’t neglect it,” broke in 
Manners. “I’m going to take this 3 'onng heir off 
with me on the — let me see,” (looking at his watch) 
“12:15 train, which we’ve just time to catch, so come 
ahead, my son.” 

“But, Justice Goyle,” stammered Eric, “I’ve got 
your ” 

“ Oh, never mind about that,” returned the mag- 
istrate, with a smile. 

“I’ll fix it up later, then,” said Eric. “Good by. 
Doctor Blendford. I am ever so much obliged for 
all you’ve done for me. If you’ll leave your address 


EKIC DANE. 


205 


with Justice Goyle, I’d like to send for you when I 
get established in my rights. Good by till then.” 

The next minute Eric and young Manners were 
hurrying off to the station. 

But just before reaching the latter, Eric exclaimed: 
“Why can’t we stop at Cedarbrook and find out if 
the Tilbert boys have really gone off as you suppose ? ” 

“ But Tilbert wouldn’t let us know if they had,” 
returned Manners. “ He will i^robably be suspicious 
of everybody now.” 

“There’s Charley Shaw, though,” went on Eric. 
“ He’s a great friend of Percy Tilbert’s. I met him 
when I stayed over night at the Bluff House. AVe 
might find out from him without going near the 
Dane place.” 

“ That’s the very thing ! We’ll stop over at the 
Bluff House for dinner, and then catch the next 
train down.” 

So tickets were bought for Cedarbrook, and dur- 
ing the trij) Eric pointed out the apple orchard which 
had helped him through a tight place, as he ex- 
pressed it, and the woods to which he had fied on 
that Saturday morning. 

“How does your arm feel now, Eric ?” inquired 
Manners, when they were alighting from the cars 
at the well remembered little station. 

“ Oh, it pin pricks me a bit, but I’ve got so much 
on m}^ mind just now that there’s hardly room for 
even pains to get in,” laughed Eric, as he took the 
other’s arm to walk up the hill . 

He noticed that the old flagman looked at him 
rather sharply, and he wondered whether he was re- 
membered as the irreverent youth who spoke lightly 
of the dead. 

On reaching the Bluff House and inquiring for 
Charley Shaw, they ascertained that the family had 
moved back to their city home that morning. 


206 


EEIC DANE. 


Can you give me their New York address ? ” Eric 
asked of the clerk. 

“ Certainly,” was the reply. They left it with me 
in case any letters should come for them.” 

“ Then we will call on this Charley as soon as we 
reach town,” said Manners. “We must work quickly 
or Tilbert will sniff a mouse and forestall us.” 

But as the next down train did not leave until 1 :45 
there was time enough to take dinner at the Bluff 
House, as they had planned. Quarter to three found 
them at the Shaw residence in Fifty First Street. 

“Yes, Master Charley was in,” the girl said, and 
when the boy came down he recognized Eric at once, 
and seemed very glad to see him. 

Our hero introduced his friend, and then briefly 
stated the object of their call. 

“ Why, yes,” exclaimed Charley. “ That was one 
reason ] was so willing to come back to town early, 
Percy’s being away. His father sent him off to camp 
out at Spring Lake very suddenly last Saturday.” 

“ Do you know who went with him ? ” asked Eric, 
eagerly. 

“ Yes ; their tutor, and some fellow from South 
Oxford. I went down to the station to see the boys 
off, and they told me that this chap was to be on the 
train and join their party.” 


EKIC DANE. 


207 


CHAPTEE XXXVIL 

BY THE SEA. 

Mr. Kob Manners could scarcely restrain liimself 
from leaping to his feet with a cry of triumph when 
Charley Shaw made the announcement recorded at 
the close of the last chapter. 

It is very pleasant under ordinary circumstances 
to have one’s predictions verified ; but when one is 
a lawyer, and engaged on a case involving some am- 
ateur detective work, the pleasure is enhanced ten- 
fold. 

Eric was greatly excited, too, and his voice fairly 
quivered as he breathlessly inquired : 

“ Did Percy mention the name of this young fel- 
low V ” 

“ No ; and he didn’t seem especially delighted 
with the idea of his going along. He didn’t want to 
go himself very much, any way, I guess.” 

But how far is Spring Lake from here ? ” went 
on Eric the next minute. “ Perhaps we’re no better 
off now than if he was in the woods of Maine, ex- 
cept that we’ve got a definite post office address to 
write to.” 

“Better off ! ” exclaimed Manners. “I should say 
we were. Why,” taking out his watch, “ Spring 
Lake is only some thirty miles from here on the 
Jersey coast, just below Long Branch, and we’ll have 
time to catch the 3:45 boat, and be there by six 
o’clock tonight. We’re ever so much obliged to 


208 


ERIC DANE. 


you, Mr. Shaw, and we’ll give Master Percy your 
very best regards, shall we ? ” 

“Yes, and tell him I miss him like fun.” 

“ Now, my dear boy,” said Manners, enthusiastic- 
ally, as soon as 'they were in the street, “ we’ll clinch 
matters very shortly. Come around with me to my 
rooms, where I can get brushes, combs, collars, and 
so on, and then we’ll go down and spend the night 
where your presence will cause a bombshell of sur- 
prise to somebody, if Pm not very much mistaken.” 

“But I’m taking up entirely too much of yonr 
time — and money,” Eric objected. “How much is 
the fai’e to this place ? You’ve paid out enough for 
me already. I feel quite rich now, you know, with 
five dollars in my pocket, as against five cents a little 
while back.” 

“Now, look here, young man,” retorted Manners, 
“ you’re an invalid and ought to be stretched out on 
the lounge in my den at this very minute, instead of 
talking of traveling off by yourself to a place you’ve 
never seen, and only heard of ten minutes ago. Oh, 
never fear but I’ll manage to make you pay me for 
my services in one way or another when you come 
into possession of that snug little million or two. 
But here we are,” and the young lawyer led the ^way 
into the corridor of a handsome bachelor apartment 
building. 

Here they took the elevator to one of the upper 
floors, where Manners had a suite of rooms most luxu- 
riously fitted up. However, there w^asn’t much time 
in which to inspect them, for their possessor com- 
manded Eric to lie down on the sofa to which he had 
alluded and rest his arm, while he (Manners) got 
some things together and j^acked in his usual race 
horse fashion. 

“When are we coming back?” inquired our hero, 
as they started for the pier. 


EKIC DANE. 


209 


‘‘I hope we can get that McQuillam fellow to come 
with us to Cedarhrook tomorrow morning. I’m tak- 
ing a little vacation from business, you know, but I 
can’t very Avell be away from my office bej'Ond Tues- 
day, and I don’t want to miss the expression on that 
Tilbert’s face when you confront him with the chaj) 
who can positively identify you.” 

“It will be ratlier awkward, though, for him to 
receive me — and for me, too for the matter of that, 
won’t it?” remarked Eric, reflectively. “I’m afraid 
he’s not going to be a very pleasant person to live 
in the house with.” 

“ Oh, he’s a very agreeable man and a great favor- 
ite with his neighbors, I hear, so I dare say when he 
finds that he must acknowledge you he will make 
the best of it, and come up to the mark like a gen- 
tleman.” 

“ But he must be an out and out rascal to do as he 
has done,” persisted Eric. 

“I’m inclined to doubt that now,” rejoined Man- 
ners. “ I’ve been thinking it over since I met the 
man, and have about come to the conclusion that he 
took the cgurse he did in a moment of sudden 
temptation. That is, he honestly believed that you 
had been destroyed beyond recognition until your 
card was brought in to him the day after the acci- 
dent. Then, knowing that he had in his possession 
not only your private papers, but your trunk as well, 
he made up his mind on the instant that he would 
persuade himself that you were an impostor.” 

By this time the train had reached Kector Street, 
and soon afterw'ard the two w'ere enjoying a sail 
down the bay on the swdft going steamer St. Johns. 
They changed to the cars at Sandy Hook, were 
whirled through fashionable Sea Bright, lengthy 
IMon mouth Beach, and so on to Long Branch, Elbe- 
ron, Asbury Park and 


210 


EKIO DANE. 


Spring Lake ! ” called out the conductor. 

Eric was by this time in a high state of excite- 
ment. Was it possible that this all important wit- 
ness would again slip through his fingers just as the 
latter were about to close upon him? 


ERIC DANE. 


211 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

FACE TO FACE AT LAST. 

Eric was feverishly impatient as they left the cars, 
and was for plunging at once into the woods in 
search of the camp and “Hoddy.” 

“ Let’s go over to the hotel first, and inquire for 
the Tilbert party,” suggested Manners. “I daresay 
they go there for their meals. Perhaps we’ll find 
them at dinner now.” 

After a short ride in the omnibus along the shores 
of a lake picturesquely fringed with a forest of pine 
trees, and dotted here and there with the gay craft 
of pleasure parties, they alighted at the Monmouth 
House and secured rooms, and then inquired if the 
clerk happened to know of a party consisting of the 
two Tilbert boys, their tutor, and a friend, who had 
come down on Saturday to camp out in the woods 
adjoining the hotel. 

“Why, yes,” was the reply. “They didn’t bring 
anything but a tent and bedding, and come over here 
to eat. I dare say you’ll find them on the beach 
now.” 

“ Come on, Eric,” exclaimed Manners, on hearing 
this. “The sandy borders of the Atlantic will be 
quite a romantic spot on which to have the recog- 
nition take place, besides providing a harmless sur- 
face on which Mr. McQuillam may drop when he 
sees you.” 

Leaving the satchel to be taken up stairs by a 


212 


EEIC DANE. 


hall boy, Eric and bis cliampion hurried off in the 
direction of the booming- breakers. 

“ Aha^ this is fine, isn’t it ? ” murmured Manners, 
sniflSng in the salt air with unconcealed satisfaction. 
“ Now do you see any of your friends or enemies, I 
scarcely know which to call them ? ” 

“ Oh, Percy Tilbert is a boy I’m very fond of, and 
we were fast friends before his father forbade him 
to have anything to do with nie. By George, there 
he is now ! ” 

“And is McQuillam with him?” cried Manners, 
nearly as much excited as was Eric himself. 

“ I can’t make out yet. See that group sitting on 
the sand just in front of the last bath house in the 
row, and the boy standing beside them with his 
hands wide apart, as if he was showing how big a 
fish he has caught? Well, that’s Percy, and I hope 
one of the fellows he’s talking to is the chap I’m 
after.” 

Hastening over the sands, the two soon drew near 
enough to the group for Eric to distinguish the red- 
dish hair and stocky figure of the young butcher. 
He was sitting with his back to the newcomers, 
looking up at Perc3^ 

“ Let’s walk around to the other side and stand 
where he can see me,” whispered Eric. 

Accordingly the two skirted the group, then took 
up their station close by, and pretended to be gazing 
with great intentness on some distant object out at 
sea. 

No notice was taken of them for the moment, 
everybody being absorbed in the story Percy was 
telling. But when this was ended, McQuillam 
turned his head and his eyes fell on Eric. 

AVith a half shriek, half groan, he sprang to his 
feet, staggered back a few paces, then dropped in a 
heap on the sand. 


EEIC DANE. 


213 


With an irrepressible cry of joy Eric rushed for- 
ward. 

“You thought it was my ghost, didn’t you?” he 
cried, stooping over his late seat mate. “ But here, 
give me your hand and I’ll pnll you on your legs 
again, and show that there is some substance to 
me.” 

“ But you are — you weren’t killed ! ” ejaculated 
Hoddy, regarding our hero with a stare of incredu- 
lous amazement. 

“ Not a bit of it,” rejoined the latter, heartily. 

“Why, I’ve told Mr. Tilbert that you were burnt 
up in that car, and ” 

“ I know you did, and that’s the reason I’ve been 
chasing you all over the State. I want you to come 
back with me and tell him you are mistaken.” 

“ Who is it ? Tell me who it is.” 

Percy was clamoring to have the mystery ex- 
plained to him. 

“Why, it is your cousin, Eric Dane,” replied 
Hoddy. 

“ But papa told me not — not to have anything to 
to with him,” went on Percy, lowering his voice as 
Bob Manners joined Eric. 

“ He did ! ” exclaimed Hoddy, looking puzzled. 

“ I think I can explain the reason of that,” inter- 
posed the young lawyer, who had overheard the 
words. “Mr. Tilbert, believing his cousin to have 
been cremated in the railway accident, took my 
young friend here for an impostor, as he was left 
without any means of proving his identity.” 

“You found my pocketbook, you know,” added 
Eric, turning to Hoddy. “ That had all my papers, 
letters and the check to my trunk in it, so I’ve had 
a hard time of it for a week, and have been knocked 
about like a football. At last I found out you were 
here, and I came down to get you to go back with 


214 


ERIC DANE. 


me to Cedarbrook tomorrow morning. How long 
were you to stay here ? ” 

“ As long as we wanted to/’ answered Percy. “ But 
I’m tired of it now. It’s cold sleeping in a tent these 
nights. Let’s all go back tomorrow, Mr. Fox, can’t 
we ? ” 

Mr. Fox, who was evidently the tutor, was a bright 
looking young fellow of twenty two or thereabouts. 
He, in common with a handsome boy of ten, Everett 
Tilbert, had listened to the foregoing conversation 
with amazed intentness. 

“Well,” he said, “I think the matter is quite im- 
portant enough to warrant us in breaking up our 
camping project, at least temporarily.” 

“ Good,’' cried Percy, “ and now let’s all go in to 
supper.” 

“ Second the motion,” and Manners walked off in 
the direction of the hotel with the heir of the Fil- 
berts, with whom the mention of Charley Shaw’s 
name was an “ open sesame ” to a speedy acquaint- 
anceship. 

Eric followed with Hoddy and the others. 

“And so you got off with only a damaged arm,” 
said the young butcher, nodding his head toward the 
sling. 

“ Oh, I hurt this night before last in a fall,” replied 
Eric. “ I got out of the accident with scarcely a 
scratch. But I thought you had gone to the Maine 
woods.” 

“ We were going there first, but Mr. Tilbert 
thought it was too late in the season to go so far 
away, so we came down here instead, and I’ve had a 
jolly good time.” 

The six managed to have a ‘‘jolly good time ” of 
it at dinner, and afterwards Eric and Manners went 
over to inspect the “ camp.” After a half hour’s stay 
there, the latter declared that the “ invalid ” must 


EKIC DANE. 


215 


go to bed, in -order to refresh his nerves for the ex- 
citement of the morrow. 

“I’ll stay and help these fellows pack up,” he 
added. 

So our hero went off to his room at the hotel, but 
it was long before he could compose himself to 
sleep. 

The next day the entire party embarked on an 
early train for New York, where they arrived just in 
time to catch another for Cedarbrook. 

At Rob Manners’s request, no word of their coming 
had been sent to Mr. Tilbert. 

Percy was almost as excited as Eric himself. 

“Papa will feel terribly about having treated you 
the way he did,” he said. “ But he didn’t know, and 
you won’t — won’t be cross about it, will you ? ” 

Eric thought of the week of anxiety, suspense and 
privation through which he had passed, of the in- 
sults and indignities that had been heaped upon 
him. Could he overlook all this ? 

Then he glanced down at the wistful face beside 
him, waiting so eagerly for his answer. He pictured 
to himself the results in the family of exposure of 
his father’s scheming, then 

“ No, Percy,” he answered. “ I hope your father 
and I will be friends after this.” 

On reaching the house, Everett was sent in search 
of Mr. Tilbert. 

“Don’t tell him who’s here, but just say we’ve 
come back Avith a surprise for him,” Percy cautioned. 
“ We’ll wait in the library.” 

“I feel kind of sheepish,” remarked Hoddy, 
breaking a silence that the ticking of the bell 
shajDed clock on the mantel only rendered the more 
intense. “ It seems I’ve stirred up an awful muss, 
and nobody’s got any good out of it but me. That’ll 
make folks think I did it a purpose, won’t it ? ” 


216 


EBIC DANE. 


Before anybody could assure him on this score, 
the portieres of the doorway leading into the dining 
room were pulled aside, and Mr. Tilbert entered. 
He took two or three steps toward Mr. Fox, as if to 
demand of him the meaning of this sudden return, 
when his eye fell on Eric and Hoddy, seated on the 
sofa side by side. 

“ Ha ! ” This single expression escaped the mag- 
nate’s lips, then his face grew suddenly pale, and he 
put one hand on the revolving bookcase, as if to 
steady himself. 

“ Here’s your cousin, Mr. Tilbert,*’ began Hoddy, 
abruptly, rising and putting his hand on Eric’s 
shoulder. “ He wasn’t killed after all, but it seems 
I’ve made it pretty rough for him by telling you 
that I thought he was. You’re awfully surprised, 
aren’t 3 ^ou ? I don’t wonder, for Great Scott ! ” 

Hoddy rushed forward as he saw the man he was 
addressing sway and reel, and then lurch forward. 
Hoddy caught him in his arms, and let him gently 
down upon the floor. 

Of course all was confusion in a moment. Percy 
flew off to call his mother, Mr. Fox ran to the tele- 
phone to summon the doctor, while Eric and Man- 
ners chafed the unconscious man’s wrists. 

While thus engaged, our hero noticed something 
of which he did not s]3eak until afterwards, and then 
only to Fred Marchman. 

Mrs. Tilbert, a sweet faced, motherly looking wo- 
man, now came hurrying in, accompanied by the 
butler and two or three terrified maids. 

“John, John,” she said, softly, kneeling on the 
carpet, and taking one of her husband’s hands in 
both of hers. 

“Eric! Where is Eric?” he murmured faintly, 
looking around. 

Percy Avhispered something in his mother’s ear, 


EEIC DANE. 


217 


and then the latter beckoned to our hero. She 
pressed his hand warmly, and caused him to kneel 
down beside her.” 

Mr. Tilbert opened his eyes, fixed them on Eric, 
and then, stretching out his hand, whispered 
hoarsely : “ Welcome ! ” 

* ;♦: 

Two months later. The lawns and sidewalks at 
.Cedarbrook were strewn with dry, crisj) leaves, 
which the autumn gales sent scurrying back and 
forth with angry rustlings. The gates of Elmhurst 
were closed, the Tilberts having removed to their 
city home. Eric had spent a very pleasant fortnight 
there, after that second Tuesday of his arrival in 
America. Mr. Tilbert had speedily recovered from 
his shock of surprise, and thereafter nothing could 
exceed his kindness to our hero, whom he persisted 
in alluding to as one “miraculously restored from 
the dead.” 

“ You promised to tell me what that was you saw 
when your Cousin John had the fainting spell, ’Eic,” 
said Fred Marchman, as the two were being whirled 
along in the fast express, on their way home from 
college for the Thanksgiving holidays. “ Come, tell 
me now, or you’ll forget what it was.” 

“ You’ll never breathe it to a soul, not even your 
wife — when you get one ? ” 

“Never,” laughed Fred in rej)ly, “ nor even babble 
it to my grandchildren in my garrulous old age.” 

“Well, then, while Manners and I were chafing 
m}" cousin’s wrists, I happened to look in his face 
and saw one of his eyes open just the least little bit, 
and ” 

“You think ” 

“ That that fit business was all a forced affair to 
bridge over the awkw^ard chasm between Eiic the 
impostor and Eric the heir. It was a very happy 


218 


ERIC DANE. 


thought, too, and was the first good turn John Til- 
bert ever did me.” 

We have only to add that our hero, in his pros- 
perity, did not forget those who had stood by him in 
his adversity, for how could he do so, when it is im- 
possible to banish from his memory that eventful 
week when he was the football of foktune ? 

THE END. 


IVo. 19 of MUIVSEY’S POPULAR SERIES is entitled 

OUR. YOUNG SOLDIERS. 

- Articles on Military Matters, 

BY W. K. HAMILTOH, LIEUTENANT U. S. A. 


COPIOUSLY ILLUSTRATED. 


No. 2 of MUNSEY’S POPULAR SERIES is entitled 


A Voyage to the Gold Goast < 

OR, 

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BY FRANK H. CONVERSE, 

Author of “ Vanf “ In Southern Seasf etc., etc. 


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iUMB'DR, 91; 

OE, 

THE ADVENTURES OF A NEW YORK 
TELEGRAPH BOY. 

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